


The Man who sold the world

by Pandigital



Series: The man who sold the world [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ascending to Godhood, Child Inquisitor, Dragons, Elvhen Language, Elvhen Lore, Elvhen Pantheon, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magister!Hawke, Multi, Polyamory, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Solas is Fen'Harel, The Qun, Well of Sorrows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-12 06:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 191,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11731005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandigital/pseuds/Pandigital
Summary: Solas knew that he had caused many of the worlds current problems, not all, but most. He just never expected a child to be the one who was going to fix his mistakes. He had a feeling that his former family was laughing at him from beyond the Veil.





	1. The Beginning

The sun had begun to climb high into the sky. She had been up for a few hours already, clearing the camp away and making herself some tea. She had been a Tamassran for two and half decades. Taking care of others came as easy as breathing. She reached high into the sky, her spine giving a low pop and then bent at the waist to grip her toes, breathing out. She moved slowly through her routine, keeping her form limber and controlled. So many saw her bulk, her sharp teeth, grey eyes and grey skin, and her long, long horns that reached up in a straight spiral to the sky and saw a monster with no brain. Fools, she could talk politics around them all day. 

Her ears caught a sound. She stopped and turned her head. The noise came again, little feet. A dwarf? She kept her back turned, running her sharply pointed thumbnail along the smooth skin of her pointer fingers. Her sharpest nails, and the ones with the most point. She would have to reach down, and thrust her thumbs up into the throat. 

The feet came closer and moved left. She kept her breathing even, going through her steps slowly. She waited for the feet to move closer but they didn’t. The sound of the lid being moved from the top of her tea made her look out of the corner of her eye instead. A small and dirty elvhen child. She turned to face the child. It was looking for something. 

Food. She cleared her throat and a small face full of fear turned to look at her. She got down on her knees and spoke softly to the child, “Are you alright?” 

The child was shaking and tears were welling up in large doe eyes. Gold colored. Maraas smiled, soft and tender. The child gave a low sniff and the tiny shoulder shook. The black hair had been cut, with a jagged knife or with a dirty sword at an odd angle. Maraas let her eyes roam as she smiled and moved closer. The elf didn’t try to run. 

Blood was on the simple tunic and small rough spun pants. Some pieces had been torn and ripped, caked with dirt. A large bruise covered the child's right eye, fading away. Flaking blood was crusted around the nose and upper lip. A small scab covered the lower lip where it had been broken open. Maraas felt the bloodlust rise. Children should never be touched like this. 

A small spanking and harsh words meant to teach, but never brute force on such tiny bodies. Marass shuffled again and the child flinched. She extended her hand and the child looked at it and then at her. Marass kept her voice soft but firm, “My name is Marass. This is my camp. Are you hungry? I can feed you and tend your wounds.” 

The child did an odd thing. The chest heaved, the shoulders jerked and the throat expanded and then deflated. The child did it again and then a harsh cough forced past chapped lips. Tiny hands flew up to catch it. It sounded as though the child was sick. In Par Vollen she had seen this before. A thick mucus would build itself up in the lungs and chest, making it hard to breath. A fever would come next.

Aching bones and lungs from coughing so much. Marass put her hand on the small forehead. A fever and a cough. She picked the child up under the armpits and took them into her tent. The child tried to bat her hands away but the cough made it impossible. Maraas wrapped the small elf in the warm blanket that Orta had given her a few years ago. The tea was brought in from outside and healing herbs were placed in it after being placed in a little metal ball with a chain on it, some kind of device used by the people from Tevinter that Trevelyan had brought with him when he left his home country. 

The little elf drank it slowly and then looked at Maraas. Small, cold hands touched her long, long braid, hanging over one massive grey shoulder. It was as red as blood. The child had sun kissed skin; a golden bronze color. The elf pet the soft strands and then looked up at Maraas. The tea was put down on the ground and the child climbed into the small space between folded legs. The blanket was wrapped around the whole body. 

“Are you a boy or a girl?” The child didn’t answer and didn’t move. Maraas frowned and then took the small hand in her own. She let her larger hand expand, the muscles tight, “Tap once for boy. Two for girl. Three if you do not wish to tell me yet. You don’t have to tap at all.” 

Three taps, slow and careful. Maraas smiled. 

“Abelas.” the child said, voice rough and raw. 

“I told you my name, small one. But you can call me Maaras. Now rest.” 

The child tossed and turned, itching harshly at the baby soft scalp and rubbing away the dried blood with haunted eyes, but soon enough, sleep found the elf as the sun bathed them in the golden light of early fall. The child would need a bath. With it came the grumbling voices of her companions. Mostly about food and its lack of being ready for them. She made sure the child was tucked away and took the tea pot with her. Orta and Damen both grumbled, eyes glassy and bodies swaying. Too long drinking and singing the night before. 

Orta had her head shaved close on the side and along the back of her head. The hair she had on the top was short and was what she called “strawberry blonde” but leaning more to gold than red. Maraas saw orange, but would not argue it with small rogue. She was sneaky. She had twin scars running at different angles down and under her left eye. Twin pools of emerald blinked away the drink when her head turned to ask where the morning food was. Maraas always cooked for them and food was never late; unless there was a reason. 

Damen was a once noble of Tevinter who moved to the Free Marches in his youth. Something or other about blood magic and an affair between his father and an elvhen stable boy that belonged to another magister. He had the tight but lovely complexion of dark skin of those born in southern Tevinter or near the coast, while his hair was a shimmering white color. A light, light blonde, as Maraas understood it. He had one blue eye and one brown. Unlike most mages though, he was not well spoken and was in fact very shy. Until he drank anyway, then one could not shut him up. 

But there was one thing that all had in common, no one wanted them. Orta had been kicked from her family for not willing to marry. Women appealed to her, not men in any way, shape or form outside of friendship. Damen could not be the son his family wanted, for he was a pariah to them for being different. She was a Tal-Vasoth. And now they had a new problem other than don’t get killed, arrested, turned Tranquil, or get taken back to the place they had escaped from. The child was a matter that needed to be settled quickly.

*******************

Qunari were huge. Humans were big. Elves were a little shorter than humans and dwarves were small. Orta knew this like she knew a well placed knife in the throat shut everyone up really well. She knew this to be true until the kid crawled out of the tent that Maraas slept in. Elves had pointy ears, so this had to be an elf. But it was so.... _ TINY _ . 

No bigger than her! The kid ate the simple lunch with them, coughing once or twice. Thick and hurt sounding coughs. Maraas had the kid in her lap, looking through that thick black hair like she was searching for gold. Damen, the big softie, was the only one who knew some Elvish. And by some, he had meant such basic shit the kid was looking at him like he was a moron. Which, as far as Orta was concerned—even though she loved her small and misguided family—was true. 

Finally, after a few hours of hair grooming and slow conversation, three new things came into light. Abelas Lavellan was the kids name. She was a girl. And she did not have lice, like how Marass was afraid she might have had since she had been wandering the wilderness alone for so long. Orta could guess why she was alone. Either she was a mage, like Damen, or she had been the only survivor of her clan from a slaver raid. Orta looked at the boney knees and sharp elbows, the flinches at loud noises and her head always swinging back and forth, searching. 

Slavers it was. It would also explain the sloppy chopped hair and the blood stains. A bath was in order. The kid stank to the sky. But it seemed that this was the end of Damen and his “translation” skills. Marass had asked him to ask the kid if it was ok if she was given a bath. 

“What?” he sniffed. 

Maraas raised an eyebrow and spoke slowly to him, “A bath. She needs to be cleaned so I can see how badly she is hurt.” 

Damen blinked his huge eyes at them and then used his staff to draw random circles into the dirt at his feet where he stood. Orta smoked slightly on her cigar of elfroot. Damen didn’t look up, “I don’t know the word for bath in Elvish.” 

“I see.” Maraas sighed. 

“Sorry.” 

“It is not your fault that she is alone now.” 

“Yeah. Just your countrymen.” Orta said as she flicked the ashes of her cigar into the fire pit. The kid was trying to rip a piece of jerky in half. Her little hands were holding on tight, while her mouth tugged and twisted, the meat held between a set of pearly whites. Marass shot her look. Orta ignored it.

Her and Marass got along fine, but they had vastly different understandings of how the world worked. People couldn’t change who they were without destroying who they are. The past and the present could not coexist together without a fallout happening. Maraas still clung to her old life. She was a mercenary now. Not a child rearer. And yet, when the child gave up on her quest to kill the jerky, she turned and held it up toward Marass with a small, “Maaras?” 

She didn’t even flinch, all she did was look down, take the jerky and use those large hands to rip it into small chunks for Abelas to eat. Her gaze went back to Damen who still drew random shapes into the dirt, not looking at them at all. Orta blew out the last of her smoke and tossed the stub into the fire pit to burn away. Damen finally looked up, and right at her. Orta raised an eyebrow. He seemed to be trying to make himself seem bigger. He was always hunched in on himself, looking down and never raising his voice, or even speaking, truly. 

“They are m-my countrymen no more.” he stammered out quickly. 

“You can play pretend all you like. But you still hail from Tevinter. Your people put the elven people in chains and claim it is a social norm that no one has bothered to change and that no one will.” 

“Orta.” Marass said, her tone firm. 

“It’s true!” Orta snapped back at her.

“Damen left.” 

Orta scoffed, “Not because he wanted to.” 

“I did want to leave!” Damen shouted and then slapped his hand over his mouth. He looked down, “Sorry.”

They both looked at him. Abelas had stopped eating and was now watching them all, her eyes distant and afraid. Orta sat down on the ground and took out her whetstone. Marass spoke, “The past is painful, but it does not control your life. The future must but better than the life we had been told we would have. And it will be.” With that she stood, the little elf held in her arms, and moved toward the ankle deep river running alongside their camp. 

Damen looked at her after he had wiped away his dirt drawings and tied his hair back out of his eyes. He squinted at her and she frowned at him. She gave the strings of her left boot one final tug before tying them off, her gaze not even on him, “What?” 

“Did you tell her about the conclave?” 

Orta gave a low snorting laugh before standing, “No, and I won’t either. It’s a load of bull crap and we both know it.” 

“She has a right to know.” Damen said as she stood up to test her boots. 

“She has a new baby to take care of.” Orta said as she kicked dirt into the fire to put it out. She could see the Qunari coming back to camp which meant that they would be moving out soon. 

Damen rolled his eyes, “She’s not a baby. She’s four.” 

Orta stomped over to him and gave him a small shove with a scowl on her face, “She’s tiny and sick and Maraas will smother that kid in love.” 

“Like she does us?” he snipped at her and she punched him in his bladder.

**************

For weeks they moved, always taking quick and easy jobs. The little elf, Abelas, still had a bad cough, but Maraas had listened to her chest a few times. The water lung had passed. The cough might have been because of the rainy season and the spring flowers coming into bloom. Otra didn’t like the rain or the mud at all. Damen and Abelas spoke, him trying in vain to teach her the common tongue. So far it was slow going. 

As they took refuge in the old dragon tower, one that they had used before, Abelas and Marass cooked a simple stew. The rain fell in sheets outside. Damen made his way up to the balcony that was still intact and covered by a roof. The roof itself was rotting. One day this place wouldn’t have a balcony. Only a simple rocky base with a nothing to remember it by. No one except those who could walk in the Fade. 

And even then, this place would be half remembered at best or a nightmare vision at worst. The tower itself might have once looked fierce to any who came upon it. It was covered in stone animals of myth that feared no one and had been feared by all. The gargoyles that rose twelve feet tall on either side of him, a hellhound and a wyvern, two thousand that brooded over the walls of the ancient fortress. If had once been a fortress, he liked to think. It had the same stone walls, but so many of them had fallen to dust. When he first came to the dragon tower—as he had dubbed it so many years ago—the army of stone grotesques had made him uneasy, but as the years passed he had grown used to them. 

Now he thought of them as old friends. The three of them watched the sky together with foreboding. The conclave was happening sometime next month. The town of Haven was not too far away. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was not too far from that either. Damen had been told that the south was full of forgotten ruins and held wonderful secrets. He had seen more ruins in the Imperium than he had here. 

But the dragon tower was one of the few ruins that brought a sense of home of to him. As the wind blew the icy rain toward him he threw up a small shield and the rain didn’t touch him. If it got any worse then they would have to go and stay with an old friend of his. The lesser lord and he had, once, spent a very long and sweaty week together. Orta still took jabs at him from time to time. But that lesser lord had married and had a child. He didn’t begrudge him that. 

They still remained friends even though they had once slept together. He could smell the snow in the air. Before coming south, he had never understood how to smell snow, but now he thought that he would never forget the smell of snow. As Maraas called him for dinner he left his spot. The sky was too grey. Something was going to happen. He just wished he knew what it was. 

As they ate they talked about nothing. Abelas didn’t need to know about the people they killed. As they ate she seemed to be very quiet. Not that she talked much at all to begin with. Marass asked her what was wrong. She looked down at her simple potato stew. Her cough had gotten worse as they stared her. 

Maraas had wrapped her in thick winter clothing even though winter was still not settled in proper. Castles are not friendly to the frail. 

“I had bad dreams.” She told them brokenly in her limited grasp of commong, pushing her spoon through her stew, “About dragons. They were coming to eat me.” 

“Dragons are dead and gone.” Orta said with a scowl on her face. 

“Not anymore.” Marass said as she handed out another bowl of stew to herself and Orta. Abelas handed her the bowl and then crawled into the large lap of the Qunari, “I have heard it said that they wander now, few and far between, but they live once more.” 

“Great.” Orta said with a huff. 

They told stories that made each other laugh instead. Abelas helped him wash the dishes in the rain that poured down. That night as they slept he had a horrible dream himself. He was in a very large and wet cave. He could hear the rain coming from somewhere. He looked down and the green fog of the Fade curled and twisted around his ankles. He lifted up his foot and shook the clinging fog from his pants and boots. 

He kept one hand on the slimy walls. He flinched away from the walls and looked at his hand. It was covered in a smelly pink slime. He pressed his first two fingers into his thumb and pulled them apart. Thin strings of the sticky fluid clung to him. He shook his hand off and let it hover instead near the wall. As he walked the passages became smaller and smaller. 

The ground under him was no longer solid ground but the wet sounds of stepping on a sticky floor. His feet were sinking deeply into the ground as he walked. As he turned left and left and left, the walls came very close until only a small hallway was given to him. He turned to go the the other way and a wall was at his back instead. He sighed and began to shimmy through the narrow gap. At the end of the narrow gap, his hips caught and he had to push himself with all of his might to get loose. As he caught his breath a voice floated into his ears, speaking from far away. 

_ “...the horrible conclusion which had been gradually...that nevermore should I behold the blessed light of day, or scan the pleasant hills and dales of the beautiful world outside…” _ Damen frowned and kept going left, away from the voice. It faded as he walked and then it was on the other side of the corner before he got there. He froze as it spoke,  _ “All at once, however, my attention was fixed with a start as I fancied that I heard the sound of soft approaching steps on the rocky floor of the cavern.”  _ Damen took a step back and ran into the wall. He needed to wake up. He closed his eyes as the walls shook. A demon was coming for him. 

He could hear the voices from the green fog of the Fade taunting him in a sing-song voice, _ “The shadows come to stay, my lord, stay my lord. The shadows come to stay my lord.”  _

He felt a very small and cold hand touch his face. He jerked himself awake and almost hit Lavellan with his head. She jumped back and landed on the ground on her butt. She looked dazed at him and he looked dazed at her. He wiped the sweat from his face. She got to her feet. He looked at the sleeping forms of his companions. Orta was still asleep under the stairs and Maraas was still leaning against the door that lead to a caved in part of the old castle fortress. A small nest of blankets were next to her. Abelas slept there. Abelas flinched as a loud cry of thunder rumbled above them. She looked up at the ceiling. He sat up properly and smiled at her. 

“Thank you, da’len.” he said with a shaky smile. 

“The sky is angry.” she said in answer and then went back to hide in her nest. Maraas pulled her closer to her body heat. Damen let his head hang and looked outside from the high window above him. The storm raged on with little care for those who tried to sleep. He hoped that they could go to Haven and sleep in beds. The Fade clung too heavily to this place when it rained.

******************

_ “We should start back,” Feyras urged as the wood began to grow dark around them, “The  _ shemlen _ are dead.”  _

_ “Do the dead frighten you?” Zatriel asked with a hint of a smile on his pale face.  _

_ Feyras did not rise to the bait. He was an old man, past fifty, and he had seen the mages come and go, “Dead is dead,” he said. “We have no business with the dead.”  _

_ “Are they dead?” Zatriel asked softly. “What proof do we have for our Keeper and our clan mates waiting for us?”  _

_ “Ashihari saw them,” Feyras said. “If she says they are dead, that’s proof enough for me. And it should be proof enough for  _ you _.  _ You _ , who will take the place of the Keeper. My wife. And the mother of Ashihari.”  _

_ Ashihari had known they would drag her into the quarrel sooner or later. She wished it had been later rather than soon, “My mother told me that dead men sing no songs.” she put in. Hopefully it would appease her father and the First.  _

_ “My own mother said the same thing, Ashihari.” Zatriel replied. “Never believe anything you hear at a woman’s tit. There are things to be learned even from the dead.” His voice echoed too loud in the twilit forest. His mother had been a city elf who had ran to clan Lavellan after she had slept with a human noble and found herself heavy with child.  _

_ “We have a long ride before us,” Feyras pointed out, “Eight days, maybe nine. And night is falling. The clan needs to know if the _ shem  _ are close to our final southern camp or not. They can’t know about our most sacred place. They have taken too much from us.”  _

_ Zatriel glanced at the sky with disinterest. “It does that everyday around this time, old man. Are you unmanned by the dark? I think you have listened to one too many stories from our Keeper about the monster who lurk in the shadows. The demons live on the other side of the Veil. And the Veil is still up. And unless a portal opens up to let them out, I doubt we have much to fear aside from _ shem _ and slavers.”  _

_ Ashihari could see the tightness around Feyras’ mouth, the barely suppressed rage in his eyes under the thick black hood of his cloak. He had spent forty years being a tracker for the clan, man and boy, and he was not accustomed to being made light of. Yet it was more than that. Under the wounded pride, Ashihari could sense something else in the older man. You could taste it; a nervous tension that came perilously close to _ fear _. Ashihari shared his unease. She had been a tracker for the clan for four years.  _

_ The first time she had been sent beyond the boundaries of the clan, all the old stories had come rushing back, and her bowels had turned to water. She had laughed about it afterward. She was a veteran of a hundred rangings by now, and the endless dark wilderness that the  _ shem _ called the Kokari Wilds had no more terrors for her. Until tonight. Something was different tonight. There was an edge to this darkness that made her hackles rise. Nine days they had been riding, north and northwest and the north again, farther and farther from the clan, hard on the tracks of the  _ shem _ slavers.  _

_ Each day had been worse than the one that had come before it. Today was worst of all. A cold wind was blowing out of the west, and it made the trees rustle like living things. All day, Ashihari had felt as though something were watching her, something cold and implacable that loved her not. Feyras had felt it too. Ashihari wanted nothing so much as to ride void bent for the safety of the clan, but that was not a feeling to share with your First. Especially not a First like this one.  _

_ Zatriel was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs(and whose father did not want a half-elf as a son nor his slum mother whom he had paid to sleep with when his wife had turned him from their marriage bed) but that was not the worst part. He was a mage as well as a half-breed. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed, graceful, and slender as a knife. Mounted on a horse instead of a halla, he towered above Ashihari and Feyras on their smaller mounts. He wore black leather boots, a warm grey woolen pants, black nugskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of dark grey wool and boiled leather. Zatriel had been a clan mate for less than half a year, but no one could say he had prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his dress was concerned.  _

_ It is hard to take order from man you laughed at while his back was turned.  _

_ “The Keeper said to track the slavers and make sure that they do not follow our path to our last holy site here in the south before we go to the Free Marches. They’re _ dead _. They won’t trouble us anymore. There’s hard riding before us. I don’t like this weather. If it snows, we could be a long while from getting back, and snow is the least of our worries. You have never had to brave an ice storm while in the city, but we have never had the luxury of high walls.”  _

_ The mage seemed not to hear him. He studied the deepening twilight in that way he did. Half angry and half bored. He looked over his shoulder at Ashihari, “Tell me again what you saw. All the details. Leave nothing out.”  _

_ Ashihari gave a sigh and rolled her blue eyes at his turned back. She looked at her father and he did the same thing. She told him _ —once more— _ what she had seen, “The camp is two miles farther on, over that ridge, hidden behind the stream and the thick trees. I got as close as I dared to those slavers. There’s eight of them, men and women both. No one is the cages though. They put up a lean-to against the rocks.  _

_ “The early snow’s covered it though, but I could see it since they used the black wood instead of the earthy toned wood. No fire burning, but I saw the fire pit in the middle of camp. No one was moving. I watched for a long time before I came back.  _ Nothing _ alive or from this world ever lay so still in the cold.”  _

_ “Did you see any blood? A sign of a struggle?”  _

_ “No.” Ashihari admitted.  _

_ “Did you see any weapons?”  _

_ “Some swords, a few bows. One man had a staff. Heavy looking, with a double dragon head, it looked like a cruel piece of iron. It was on the ground beside him, right by his hand.”  _

_ “Where are most of them?” Zatriel questioned her.  _

_ Ashihari narrowed her eyes at Zatriel, she had told him this less than an hour ago and three days before that, “A couple are sitting up against the rocks. Most of them were on the ground like someone dropped them. Fallen. Like a child's doll.”  _

_ “Or sleeping.” Zatriel suggested with a put upon sigh.  _

_ “Fallen,” Ashihari insisted, “There’s one sitting high up in an ironbark tree. A watchmen. Far eyed. I made sure to stay out of her line of sight. Thought she saw me a few times. But then I got closer and she  _ wasn’t _ moving either.” Despite herself, she shivered.  _

_ Frost fallen leaves whispered past them. “What do you think might have killed them, Feyras?” Zatriel asked casually. He adjusted the drape of his cloak.  _

_ “It was the cold,” Feyras said with iron certainty in his grizzled voice,“I saw men freeze last winter, and the one before that. Everyone talks about snows forty foot deep, and how the icy winds come to steal your breath away. But the real enemy is the cold. It sneaks up on you quieter than Ashihari, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet for literal hours. Then you start to daydream of warm wine, warmer bodies and hot fires. It burns _ — _ the cold, it burns worse than fire. But only for a while. Then it slinks inside of you and starts to fill you up until there isn’t anything left.  _

_ Ashihari nodded her head and added in with grim understaning, “After a while, you stop trying to fight the cold, boy. It’s easier to just sit down where you can and go the fuck to sleep. They say you don’t feel any pain toward the end. Weak and drowsy, then everything blurs and fades, and then you’re gone.”  _

Abelas woke with a start. She didn’t want to see what her clan mates had seen before their deaths. Before the demons came to her clan. She shook her head to clear away the thoughts of death and blood. She didn’t want to remember anything about what had happened to her and her clan before she had found Maaras and her little clan in the woods. She could hear Maaras and Damen yelling. Orta was lacing up her shoes. 

Abelas got up, blanket wrapped around her like a cape, and went to stand in the doorway as they yelled. If it counted as yelling. More like snakes hissing at each other. Something about Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The Keeper and the other elders had been talking about that as well. They had wanted to send someone to go and listen in. They had sounded so very worried when they had spoken to each other in hushed whispers. 

Like how Maaras and Damen were doing right now. Maaras raised her hand to slap him and he ducked, lifting his arms up high. She jerked her arm back and turned on her heel. She went past the rotting gates and down toward the half-frozen stream. Damen followed her with his eyes. Orta gave a low snort behind her. Abelas turned to look at her and Orta tucked one final dagger back into her coat. 

She pointed to Damen, “He should have kept his mouth shut.” 

They left the old shem building by mid-day. Maaras and Damen didn’t speak to each other. They wouldn’t even look at each other as they walked down the dirt road. Orta was smoking on her pipe and then gave a low groan of aggravation. She pulled back until she was keeping pace with Abelas. Abelas turned to look at her, still holding onto the long coat of Maaras. She smiled at Orta. 

She didn’t know why smiling made other people feel better. It didn’t make her feel better. But she did it anyway. Orta didn’t smile back and instead asked, very loudly, “So tell me about your elfy god's, baby elf.” 

Abelas blinked very slowly at her. Orta was a dwarf. Did dwarves believe in anything other than good weapons and money? Abelas spoke slowly, “Like what?” 

“Like about that, uh, that wolf guy. The one every Dalish elf I’ve ever met seems to be afraid of.” she said as she put out her pipe and put it back into her pack at her hip. 

“Fen’harel.” Abelas said in realization. 

“Yeah. Him. Tell me about him.” Orta said with a casual shrug of her shoulder.

“He must have died. Alone. A long, long time ago.” Abelas answered her, eyes darting around. As though she was expecting him to suddenly  _ appear  _ because she had said his name. 

“And?” Orta questioned. 

“And?” Abelas echoed. 

Orta gave a laughing snort with a wave of her hand, “Nevermind, baby elf.” 

Maraas spoke up, “We are going to Haven. Abelas, you’ll be by yourself for a few days. Then we’ll have a lot money and then we can go somewhere much warmer.” 

“Like Antiva?” Orta asked with a smirk. 

“You just want to go there because they have that...nightly  _ dancing _ place you like to go to.” Damen said with a chuckle. 

“It’s a whorehouse.” Orta said very frankly. 

“ **_ORTA_ ** .” Maraas and Damen said with frowns on their faces.

Orta threw up her hands, “She’s a virgin not a chantry sister! She has a right to know what they are called!” She threw one arm around the smaller shoulders of Abelas, “You might be four years old but you still have a right to know.” 

“I’m not four.” Abelas said with a confused look on her face. 

“Damen said you were four.” Maaras said as she stopped and looked down at Abelas. Abelas shook her head. 

“He asked how long I was alone. I was alone for one year and four months. I’m six.” 

“Even more reason for her to know!” Orta said with a smirk.

“ **_NO_ ** .” Damen and Maraas said as they went back to walking. Abelas was pulled along, since she didn’t ever let go of the leather coat Maaras wore. They walked for a long time and then came to frozen lake. On the other side of the lake was a wooden village. Abelas watched the village and the others spoke about what to do. Many people passed them as they went up to Haven and then past it. 

They spoke loudly about the meeting between rebel mages and Templars. She had never seen a Templar before. Finally Maaras gave a low sigh and got down to one knee to speak to her. Orta kept shooting glares at anyone who passed them. Qunari were not well liked. Abelas didn’t know why, but she was sure that people had their reasons. Even if they were stupid reasons. 

“Orta and I are going to the Temple. Damen and you will go to Haven and find a place to sleep. Once you are in the room, Damen will follow us. You  _ must _ stay in Haven, out of sight.” 

“When will you go to the temple?” Abelas asked her with a worried tone, wringing the end of her shirt between her hands. 

Maaras grabbed her smaller hands and pressed a kiss into them to soothe the worry that the child was displaying, “Tonight. It will take us that long to get there. Damen will stay with you and then he is leaving before dawn to join us.” 

Abelas looked down at her feet, “All right.” 

“Do you not want to be alone?” 

Being alone was not something a Dalish elf should mind. She had been left alone before. Ashihari—her mother—often went with her grandfather on long trips that would last for days. Her father had died before her birth she had been told. She was not well liked by the other children in the clan. They would never allow her to play with them. She had been born last of their generation and none of them wanted to play with the “baby” of the group. 

Too young and too  _ different _ . She didn’t know why her silence and being content to sit and watch others made her different, but it did. It was not that she didn’t want to be alone. It was what she heard while they talked. The things they didn’t say to each other even when they said words that were false. Words had power. Words could kill people. . 

Truth be told, she was more worried about the others. From what had so far from the people she had been around her whole life, mages and templars had a bad track record of killing people caught between them. She was worried about her new family more than herself. Damen was a mage and Templars could kill mages just by making a funny symbol at them. Qunari were not liked. What if they killed Maaras and Damen? Orta was a rogue who liked shiny things. 

People hung thieves too. She did not want to lose her new clan so soon after losing the old one. But she didn’t say that. She was six and that made her old enough to look after herself. She was too big to be treated like a child. She could handle being alone for one night and day. She had been alone a whole  _ year  _ before finding Maaras and the others. 

“No.” she said instead, “I want you to be safe.” 

Maaras smoothed down her hair and gave her a kiss on her forehead. She was lifted into strong arms and carried to Haven. She was given to Damen and they both watched as Orta and Maaras went up the mountain with the others. Mages stayed to one side of the road. Templars to the other. Everyone else filled the space between. Damen let her watch until they were no longer able to be seen.

The little inn gave them a very small room to sleep in. Damen made them a dinner of sweets and breads. He told her the story about how cows flew over Minrathous. She asked if she could one day see it. Damen told her no. It was not a place for elves. He told her stories until the sun went down. 

And then he kept looking out the window. They could see the small bubbles of light going up the mountain still. She crawled into his lap and held him tightly. He wrapped her up in his arms. They watched the lights until they fell asleep by the window. Outside, the winter winds howled as they raced down the mountain.

********************

_ “ _ **_Get down!_ ** _ ” Ashihari whispered urgently, “Something’s wrong!”  _

_ Zatriel didn’t move. He looked down at the empty clearing and laughed at her mockingly, “It seems that your dead men seem to have moved camp, Ashihari.”  _

_ Ashihari felt her voice abandon her. She groped for words that did not come. It was not  _ possible _. Her eyes swept back and forth over the abandoned campsite and stopped on the staff. A huge, double headed dragon, still lying on the ground where she had seen it last.  No mage was stupid enough to just forgot their staff. It was a valuable weapon to a mage. No mage would leave a staff behind when their magic needed it.  _

_ “On your feet, Ashihari,” Zatriel commanded, “there’s no one here. I won’t have you hiding behind a tree.”  _

_ Reluctantly, Ashihari obeyed.  _

_ Zatriel looked her over with open disapproval, “I won’t go back to the clan a failure on my first ranging. We are going to find these slavers if it is the last thing we ever do on this earth. Get up the tree and look for a fire.”  _

_ Ashihari turned away wordless. There was no use to argue. The wind was moving. It cut right through her as though she was made of thin cloth rather than flesh and bone. She went to the tallest tree near the camp, a vaulting grey-green sentinel made of oak, and began to climb. Soon her hands were sticky with sap, and she was lost among the foliage. Fear filled her gut like a meal she couldn't stomach. _

_ She whispered a prayer to the pantheon as she rested on a steady branch and slipped her dirk free of its sheath at her ankle. She prayed for courage. She prayed for her father and their clan should they fail here. She prayed for home. She prayed for her daughter.  She put it between her teeth to keep both of her hands free for the rest of the climb. The taste of cold iron in her mouth was more of a comfort to her than she would ever admit.  _

_ Down below her, the mage suddenly called out _ — _ too sudden and too loud to her ears, “Who goes there?”  _

_ She heard uncertainty in the challenge he called out to whoever he had seen. She stopped climbing; she listened and she watched. The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of a far off stream and the the distant hoots and howls of wolves and owls.  _

_ Demons made no sound unless they wished it to be so.  _

_ Ashihari saw movement from the corner of her eye. Pale shapes gliding through the woods. Some bigger than others. Some dressed in cloaks darker than her own. She turned her head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wood fingers.  _

_ She opened her mouth to call down a warning, her dirk dropping far down below her, and the words would not fly from her mouth. Frozen in her throat as they were. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection in the snow of an animal. The moonlight playing tricks on her lying eyes. What had she seen after all?  _

_ “Ashihari,” Zatriel called up, “where are you? Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle below her tree _ — _ suddenly wary _ — _ staff in his hand and a fire ball burning bright in the other. He must have felt them, as Ashihari felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?”  _

_ It was cold. Shivering, Ashihari clung more tightly to her perch. She pressed hard against the trunk of the tree. She could feel the sweet, sticky sap on her cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark wood. It stood in front of Zatriel.  _

_ It was tall, and gaunt and hard as old bones with flesh pale as milk. It's skin seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep-grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Zatriel didn’t even have time to scream.  _

Abelas woke with a start once more from the never ending nightmare of seeing the last days of her mother before the demons came for their clan. She looked around. Nothing looked right. Then she remembered. Damen was gone. She got up from the bed and went to the window. No more people went up the mountain.

She turned her gaze to it instead. It was so cloudy she couldn’t see anything. She frowned. She was the last member of Clan Lavellan. She was not afraid of a mountain or the  _ shem _ who argued atop it. She nodded her head and got dressed in very warm clothing. She wrapped her feet in the cloth bandages that Maaras saved. 

She shut and locked the door behind her and stuck to the deep, blue shadows. She came to the bridge that connected the mountain roads since a stream ran through it. She climbed to the outside of it and shimmied across it. Her hands were very sore after. She pressed on. The snow soaked into the bandages and she soon tossed them aside. She ducked into the trees and bushes anytime someone passed her by.

They didn’t seem right to her. Too angry and too red. Maybe it was the thin air or the bad dreams playing tricks on her eyes. She pressed on. When she came upon the Temple, it looked very... _ boring _ . It was the same grey stone as the ones in the town and people were milling in the front. She frowned. 

None of them looked like Maaras and Orta and Damen. Mercenaries she could see, but none of them looked or sounded like her new clan. She saw one of the women—the angry red one who had passed her on the trail—go around the back. Maybe there was door in the back that didn’t have a mean looking lady with a scar on her face and a huge shield on her back checking everyone who went inside. She followed after the other lady. The Temple was very big it seemed. The angry red people spoke in angry whispers in one of the rooms filled with old books. 

She wasn’t looking for old books. She was looking for her new family. She walked for a long time before finding a set of stairs. She sat down on one of the steps and rubbed her feet. The bottom were raw and dirty from walking on dusty floors. She wished she had kept the bandages now. She rubbed her feet a few moments more and then went back to climbing the stairs. 

As she pushed open a door it lead out to a large and long hallway. She looked left and right. It was so big that the voices carried to her from everywhere. She could see the sky from the large windows. The sun was almost set! She pouted. She saw a door slightly ajar. 

She smiled. Maybe a way out. She ducked inside and instead a very old woman sitting in a chair, sipping tea was inside. She wore a funny white hat. She looked at Abelas and Abelas looked at her. They looked at each other for a long time before the woman gave a little giggle and put down her teacup. It had little birds painted on it. 

“Are you lost, little one?” Abelas shook her head. The woman was still giving her that gentle smile. She patted the chair across from her. Abelas shut the door behind her softly and took a seat. She sat down very carefully. The old woman reached for the other cup and asked, “Tea?”

Abelas smiled and nodded her head. The woman added a lot of cream and sugar. It tasted very good, “Thank you.” she said. 

“You are very welcome. May I ask who you are?” 

“Abelas Lavellan.” she said. Her clan was no more and Maaras would come looking for her if she wasn’t back in the room. 

The old woman just nodded her head and spoke sweetly, “That is a lovely name. My name is Dorothea. But most people call me Justinia.” 

“Do you like that name?” Abelas asked her as she sipped at the tea. It was warming her up, she hadn’t realized she had been getting cold. 

She looked around the room with her soft blue eyes, squinting at the snobbish looking people in the paintings hanging on the walls, before leaning close and bringing her hand up to her mouth, whispered, “No.” Abelas smiled at this funny  _ shem _ . She was nice. She took another sip of tea and Dorothea did the same. 

“What does your name mean, dear? It is  _ elvish _ isn’t it?” 

Abelas nodded, “It means sorrow. My mama told me that she named me that because when I was born she was happy and sad.” 

Dorothea smiled sadly at her and admitted, “My name also means sorrow. I wonder if you’ll grow up to do great things.” 

Abelas looked down at her tea, “I don’t know. I hope so, I guess.” 

Outside the door, loud voices were coming close. Dorothea glared at the door and set her teacup down with a harsh snap. Abelas looked at the door too. The voices sounded so angry. 

“My dear,” Dorothea said as she stood, “hide. If my right and left hands are still here and not in Haven making sure the holy hall is ready for this to end, then this place will feel my wrath. And they are such sticklers for rules.”

Abelas did as the nice lady said. She got off the chair and ducked under the large wardrobe. The space between the floor and the legs was very small. Abelas was very small. She pushed her body as close to the ground as she could and watched. The door slammed open and Dorothea looked very afraid. Abelas felt her heart stop. The people of the angry red came in, weapons drawn. A few mages shot out a spell, trapping Dorothea and lifting her into the air, spread eagle. A voice spoke out then, and it was a voice that held no love for  _ anything _ but itself. 

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.” it said. And what walked in would haunt Abelas for the rest of her life. A man more demon than anything else. Red shards grew from one side of his face. He was so tall it made him appear inhuman. 

In his hand was an orb, glowing a vile red and under that red it seemed to be green. Abelas ducked her head down, hiding her eyes from what she was seeing. She had seen enough demons to last her a lifetime. She heard the doors slam shut. She had to look, she had to know when to  _ run _ . He stood in front of Dorothea. He gave her an evil looking smirk.

“Hold the sacrifice still.” he commanded. 

Dorothea struggled with everything she had, “Someone! Help me!” 

Abelas gathered her courage. She crawled out from under the wardrobe, “ **HEY** !” 

Dorothea looked right at her, “Run while you can! Warn them!” 

The demon looked at her and his eyes were  _ empty _ . She was so afraid. The demon gave her a scowl and the people in the room had the same look on their faces, “We have an intruder.  _ Slay the elf.”  _

Dorothea looked at the demon and then at her and right back to the demon. The orb was still in his hands. She glared at him and jerked her leg out of the magic holding it and kicked the orb from the demon's hands. It flew through the air and Abelas acted without thinking. She caught the orb in her left hand and held it close to her chest. Everything was so bright and then everything was so dark. 


	2. The Conclave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no need to panic. We are far past that point, but if you are not the least bit concerned for your life then you haven't been paying attention.

Cullen was speaking with Cassandra and Leliana as they entered the small inn to hide from the suddenly chilly wind coming down from the mountains. A very large Qunari and a dwarf trying to eat her hash browns, were hissing angry words at each other while a very jumpy man sat between them. Cullen would have been jumpy too. Qunari were big, skin very thick and their minds sharp. Killing machines perfected. Finally the Qunari slammed down its large hands and stood. Female, he noted, as she stood at her full height, chest pushed out as her back became rigid. 

Cassandra gripped the hilt of her sword. Leliana watched from under her hood. The owner gave them warm cider and the Qunari strode over with her shoulders and jaw set. The owner of the inn jumped when she turned and the Qunari with red hair was there, looking down at her. The innkeeper smiled at the Qunari who did not smile back.

“C-can I help you, ma’am?” the woman said as she held the circular tray in front of her chest like a shield. The Qunari closed her eyes, and took a deep breath before speaking.

“My companion,” she said softly, and pointed to the jumpy man at the table, “checked in last night with an elvhen child. Who is now missing. Did you see her?” 

The innkeeper seemed to be thinking and then looked hard at the man at the table. She gave a little gasp and snapped her finger, “Oh yeah! The odd fellow with the walking stick and the tiny elf. She was such a little thing. I saw her leave, I think, this morning. She might be playing out with the other little ones. A lot of excitement around these parts since the Conclave is here.” 

The Qunari nodded her head slowly and then her hands curled into fist before she said, very stiffly, “Thank you.” with that she moved to the door and was gone. The dwarf and the man followed after. Cullen watched them go with a squint. 

“How interesting.” Leliana said with a small smirk as she took a tiny sip of her warmed cider. Cassandra folded her arms over her chest. 

“I have not seen many Qunari so far south.” she said. 

“She is either lost or is one of the Qunari who was never born under the Qun.” Cullen said. He remembered the Qunari from Kirkwall. He had seen any females, but he he seen the males. He noted, with an absent thought, that the males were much larger than the one who had asked after her small elf, but they all seemed to have the same sharp features in the face. Maybe she was a slaver? Cullen drained the cider and bid the women goodbye before he went after the Qunari. 

She was not hard to spot. She turned to the gate and out of sight. He jogged to catch up. He called out to them as they made their way back to the Conclave. The wind was picking up and the cold was biting into his skin. They waited as he came up to them. The dwarf raised an eyebrow at him and the man hid behind the Qunari woman. She looked down at him and waited. 

“Why are you looking for the elf?” he asked, his breathing coming back to him. This was  _ not _ Kirkwall, he would turn a blind eye to the abuse of others. Not anymore. He made sure to look as big as he could. It didn’t seem to matter. The Qunari was still larger than him by a head and a half at the very least. 

He came up to her chest and that was it. The man behind her was at least a few inches shorter than Cullen. He had killed Qunari before. This one would be no different. The dwarf watched them with a very odd look on her face. The man kept looking down but sneaking glances at him. A mage then—who knew he was a templar with training to block his magic and turn him Tranquil if need be—even if he no longer was part of The Order. 

The Qunari narrowed her eyes at him. Grey like iron that had been polished, “She is my child. Lost and alone. Now she is lost and alone once more. I will find her and then we are leaving for warmer places. The cold will make her sick.” 

“The kid is probably at the Conclave looking for us.” the dwarf said as she reached into her hip pouch and took out a small pipe. She struck a match—using her hand to keep the flame alive by blocking the unusually strong winds— and the smoke was pulled away just as quickly as it appeared from the pipe. 

“I’m sorry, Maraas.” the man stuttered out. It wasn’t that cold, at least to Cullen. But the man might not have been from the south. Mages could be born anywhere. 

“It is fine, Damen. But we must get her before the weather gets worse.” Maraas, the Qunari woman with red hair, said as she turned from Cullen and went back to walking to the Conclave. The man, Damen, followed after. The dwarf smoked her pipe and then looked at him up and down before letting out a short snort. He looked down at her. 

“The kid found us. Slaver tried to kill her. She ran. We think so anyway. That Qunari takes good care of her. She’s short with everybody, so don’t take it so personal blondie.” the dwarf said with a bored look on her face and an even more bored tone of voice. 

Cullen opened his mouth and the wind seemed to be pulled backwards at a rapid pace, tugged to the top of the mountain, collected into a swirling mass. Everyone who was outside had turned to watch as the clouds grew angry, black and flashing as though it was a lighting storm being collected into a whirlpool. They shot up into the sky and then the explosion happened. It sent out a shockwave and pushed them all into the ground. As Cullen lifted himself back up, the ringing in his ears was so very loud, and he looked to the mountain top. He felt his eyes widen in disbelief. The Conclave was  _ gone _ . 

He heard Cassandra yelling, muffled by the ringing in his ears, and soldiers were running up the mountain. The Qunari, the mage and the dwarf were already running, weapons drawn. Cullen pushed himself up and ran after them. Cassandra was soon right next to him. She looked at him and he looked at her. They spoke as they ran, the world shaking beneath their feet as they did. 

Cullen spared her a look, “Are you alright, Seeker?” 

“I am fine, Commander. As is Leliana.” 

Cullen nodded, “Maker this is a mess.” 

“What happened?” Cassandra asked. 

“The Conclave exploded just now. The whole mountain top is gone.” Cullen answered as they ran up the hill, the bridge shaking under their running feet. Behind them the soldiers kept pace. In front of them the three odd people rounded the bend and then very quickly ran back, the mage shooting off fire and ice spells. They stopped a few feet after backtracking, the Qunari drew her sword, and took the shield off her back. The dwarf drew two daggers from her snow caked boots and the mage cast a barrier around them. 

From around the bend, lurching and slinking like some half dead thing, came a demon. Cassandra and Cullen both drew their swords and their shields. Two more came around the bend. The Qunari growled at the demons. The mage looked at her as the demon jerked and twisted in front of them, waiting for them. 

“Maraas,” the mage, Damen, said tightly, “I know we need to get up there, but what if she didn’t make it?” 

Maraas turns to Damen, eyes wild with rage and her teeth bared like a feral wolf as she snapped—loudly—at him, “She is  _ alive _ . I can not lose another one.  _ I won’t. _ ” 

The demons jump to attack them. They smash into each other with everything they have. As the demon scream upon their death, the sky is turning into a swirling mass of sickly looking green, a gaping maw that drips demons onto them like acid rain. The Qunari doesn’t waste time. She is running again, fast and full of desperation. She is still looking for her child. A child who had run away from the inn to try and find her at the Conclave. 

The Conclave which is now  _ gone _ . The path is not simple. It twists and turns up the mountain. They run anyway. Damen and the dwarf trying to keep up with the larger legs that propel Maraas toward the center of the end of the world. Cassandra and Cullen and their soldiers keep pace with them easily. They fight demons that fall on top of them as they do.

*******************

The world is very dark and the fog is very thick. She hurts everywhere, her hand hurts her the most though. She pushes herself up onto her knees and looks around. The world isn’t right. A light is very far away and very high up. It hurts her eyes and she uses the hand that hurts to block the light from her eyes. She stands on shaky legs and wraps her arms around herself. 

She looks around and can’t see anything. She has always been able to see in the dark but her eyes can’t see in this darkness. It makes her very afraid. She moves toward the light, her feet dragging. She holds onto herself as she moves. As the light grows above her she runs into a thick layer of slimy rock. She jerks back and reaches out with both hands. 

Slime and cold rock. She steps back and looks up. The light is above her. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. She begins to climb, her bare feet holding as tightly as they can to the rocks. Her nails dig into the rock and they creak and bend with the force. Her arms and legs burn as she climbs.

The light waves in and out as she climbs. She clutches to the rock as she gasps for breath. She has been climbing for so long. As she climbs she hears something. She turns her head and squints in the dark. Shiny eyes— _ too many eyes _ —rushing toward her at a great speed. Fear grips her chest and she climbs faster. 

The light is soon blinding her as she gets close to the top. A hand is reaching for her. She is still too far away but she can feel the evil things snapping at the places where her feet used to be. She reaches with everything she has to the hand and the hand in the light does the same. Her hand hurts her so much, her chest is tight with too little air inside of it. The evil things grab her ankle and she screams as she she grabs onto the hand and the hand hauls her  _ up _ and  **up** and  **_up_ ** and then the world is right. But it is still wrong. 

She knows this place. Ashihari had once told her that this is where she had been born. She looks around and she can see  _ someone  _ sitting on the large rock by the water. The lake is calm before them. They wear a hood of splendor and she walks over to them, cautiously. She can’t see there face but they turn to look at her. 

“So...you are the last piece of the puzzle. The conduit that shall lead to my re-birth.” then they smile, a twisted mocking thing and the familiar place falls away back to the other horrible place she had just gotten out of, “How fitting. Do be careful, we have a long way to go.” 

The person pushes her off a cliff and then...suddenly, she is home. 

Everything is on fire and burning. Maaras is there, her face is full of black blood, and dirt. Others are there too but she is so tired now. Her hand sends up a crushing pain into her shoulder and up into her brain. She can feel herself  **_fall_ ** and  **fall** and  _ fall _ . At least she is in the right world now. The other world was too  _ dark _ and too  _ scary _ and it felt too much like a forgotten home. 

She wondered—as the darkness and the dirty, burning ground came to meet her—if she had been there before. It had felt so  _ familiar _ .

***********

Flemeth taps her finger on her gauntlet, she can feel her eyes twitching. He is late. Around her are the ghostly forms of her former family. Well, not really. The ghostly forms of the Elvhen Pantheon, but she was not one of them. She had merely been chosen as the conduit for Mythal. But her life was now running out and the power  _ had  _ to be given to another. She had hoped that Morrigan would let her explain and accept it. 

Flemeth now knew that she had raised her daughter to be stubborn. But her grandson...well, maybe he would accept the power she had to give away. Of all the Elvhen Pantheon, only a few had managed to find conduits to escape their prison. Andruil had gotten out and now lived inside of an odd little elf. Flemeth liked her conduit, she spoke her mind and was always trying to help those in positions of subjugation. Flemeth could respect that. But she for the life of her could not remember her name. 

It didn’t matter. Ghilan’nain had chosen someone from the Qunari—the race she made from star dust and ash, to be her conduit—and he had gone on to lead his people into the terror they were today. Koslun was full of the rage that Ghilan’nain had felt after being imprisoned but had turned that rage into something productive. Elgar’nan had been a horrible prison mate but he had calmed when he had found a worthy vessel. Flemeth had been surprised when she had met the woman who would become The Champion of Kirkwall and saw him hovering in her shadow. She had almost laughed herself to death. Mythal and Fen’harel, but he had never been imprisoned. 

A fact that the other had never forgiven him for.  The other were still waiting for the right soul to be born. It seemed that Falon’Din had found her. Which is why this meeting was taking place. Well, in a sense. Andruil, Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan had never let their conduits  _ know  _ of their power and responsibility to the Elvhen people. So their ghostly forms were here, but the host were elsewhere. 

She almost slaps Solas when he finally sinks into this small section of the Fade that had yet to be corrupted. 

Falon’Din gave him a mocking bow, “How nice to see you again, little brother.” 

“I apologize for being late.” Solas said, not looking at them. 

Andruil gave a short laughing snort, “You are never  _ sorry  _ for anything. Speak, Falon’Din, I hate being here.” 

“My conduit...I saw her.” he said softly with reverence. 

Flemeth raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Well, show us.” 

From his hand came a small image of light that form and all of them exploded into anger at the child before them. This was unheard of, finding a conduit when they were still so young. 

Ghilan’nain threw her arms out enraged, “You’ll kill her if you try to give her that much power when she’s so young!” 

“Are you out of your mind?” June shouted as he pushed himself away from the rock he had been leaning on. 

Sylaise jumped down from the floating stone pillar—long ago broken by the Fade. It have once been part of any one of the holy temples that had built for them—and grabbed Falon’Din by the front of his ornate cloak, “How can you even be sure  _ this  _ is the conduit and not the girl who will grow to give birth to the real conduit?!” 

“Falon’Din you go too far!” Andruil spat at him. 

Falon’Din had no face. Of all of them—even Elgar’nan, the self proclaimed  _ king  _ of them all—he was the only one had a visage of terror. He looked like an unfinished product of a portrait. The eyebrow and lips had been placed in, with only the shadows for eyes and nose cast on his face though none existed. It made the wicked smile he gave them much more terrifying as it suddenly split apart like an egg being cracked open, “Fen’harel is to blame, not me. He left his orb of power—that he stole from him I might add—and let it be stolen by those  _ shem  _ to use.” 

The noise suddenly stopped and all of them turned to look at Solas who had ducked his head in shame. Sylaise had even let go of Falon’Din and had taken several steps back to gape at Solas with an open mouth. Flemeth rubbed at her temples. She could feel a headache coming on. 

“Explain.” Dirthamen turned to his twin and spoke calmly. He was a plain boy with plain features and a nose too big for his face. Flemeth had a feeling that Falon’Din had once been beautiful, but the Necromancy magic that he had long ago perfected had twisted him into this thing with no face and no heart.  

“The orb is now corrupt and no longer stable. It has torn open a portal into the Fade itself and when the girl touched it, it unlocked  _ all  _ of her magic.” Falon’Din explained to them, his voice playful and sweet. His mouth had closed once more and the voice came from nowhere. His body language spoke for him. He thought this was funny. But it wasn’t. It now presented two problems at once. The portal in the Fade had not been open or  _ stable  _ for hundreds of ages and who knew what would happen with it suddenly being  _ torn.  _

“All of it?” she asked him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at him. 

“She is now on par with us, as we once were, before we ascended to godhood.” Falon’Din chuckled at her. 

And the girl...Flemeth looked at her image still floating in front of them. She was so young. For what Flemeth had understood, all of the Elvhen Pantheon had once been powerful mages of the Elvhen race, using their magic to keep their people “immortal” and hale in trying times. But they had all gotten their magic on their tenth or twelfth years of age. They had had  _ time  _ to accumulate so much power. But now this child had all of her magical potential unlocked and there was no mage alive who would ever be able to teach her how to control it. The girl would either burn the world to a crisp or the tear would swallow it whole. 

She turned to Solas had been trying to inch his way away from all of them. 

Elgar’nan sighed, “What are we going to do now?” 

“Solas will teach her to control her magic and help her seal this tear into the Fade.” Flemeth said, her tone ice cold. 

Solas jerked and looked at her, “Me?” 

“You caused this, Solas.” Flemeth snapped, “Now you will fix it.” 

“But..what if—” he began. 

“I agree.” Falon’Din said and clapped his hands together, “Who better to train a demi-god than a fallen god?” 

Elgar’nan nodded his head, “Mythal is right. None of us can help that girl. My conduit is still roaming The Free Marches with her husband.” 

Dirthamen looked Solas in the eyes, “I’m stuck here, still. It has to be you.” 

“I could help,” Adruil sniffed, “But I won’t. Fix this.” 

Sylaise shook her head, “I’m still stuck here too, no thanks to you. So you  _ have  _ to do this.” 

“Mythal speaks the truth.” June said and itched at his scalp, “You caused all of this because you were too stupid to just  _ talk  _ to us. So…”

Ghilan’nain scoffed, “My conduit is now one of the three leaders of the Qun. I literally can not help you.” 

“I understand.” Solas sighed, “I will help her as best as I can.” 

“See that you do.” Flemeth said and turned to leave.

*************

The Conclave is nothing but burning rubble. The Qunari slides her sword through the neck of a demon. The mage shoots out lightning at the small, green wisp that float about. The dwarf is there and then gone and then at their sides once again. The Qunari breaths heavily as she looks at the carnage before her. Her face breaks from her smooth indifference. Fear and sorrow and something more  _ primal _ than that stay there. 

She drops her sword and shield, grabbing her hair and she lets out a scream full of something heartbreaking. She drops to her knees, still screaming. It takes Cullen a moment to understand the scream. It is a name she screams. Drawn out and echoing around the empty space so full of horror. Abelas. The name is elvhen, he thinks, and no one answers the cry—even as it echoes all around them. 

The child is dead. 

As Cullen looks at the burnt bodies, twisted and frozen in their final moments of terror, and he hopes that their is no body for the Qunari to mourn over. As the scream ends, the Qunari hangs her head and her shoulder shake. The mage and the dwarf look at each other. Then the air changes, cool and calm. The space in front of them cracks, like an egg, and green light, brighter and softer than the hole in the sky, pours out of the crack. The crack expands into a hole. 

They all watch for demons to spring forth. Instead a woman of light is there and a very small body is in front of her. The child—an elf with black hair and gold eyes, blood running down her nose—steps out. She looks at them for a long time and her mouth opens and closes a few times. She falls down and the Qunari is on her feet and across the space. The hole closes with a sigh. They gathered around the Qunari as she rocks the very small body close to her. The small head resting on her broad shoulder. The child looks sickly. 

“She is dying.” a voice speaks out and they all turn. An elf, bald, with an animal jaw bone necklace, and a staff stands behind them, leaning on the staff with a bored look on his face, watching them. The Qunari glares at him and hands the child to the mage. He curls her close. The Qunari grabs him by the front of his shirt and lifts him clean off his feet. The elf doesn’t even seem bothered by it, he just looks at her in the same bored expression. 

“Fix her.” Maraas snarls. 

“I will need to see her to do so.” the elf says. Maraas walks over to them, elf still in her hold, and she drops him down in front of her. The elf nods his head at them all, “My name is Solas, in case anyone was wondering.”

“You are an apostate.” Cassandra says with her trademark scowl. 

“I suppose.” Solas says and moves to the child. He takes her small arm and turns it over. Palm up and they see it. An ugly mark that weeps a green and blue light. Black veins crawl over her skin, up her arm, slow and steady, and her face twist into pain. The black veins shine like oil when they are placed under a light, moving like worms in dirt under her skin.

Solas gives a low hum and holds her small hand between his larger, paler ones. The veins slow and her face falls blank. He looks at them. The Qunari takes the child into her embrace. She looks even smaller in the large arms. 

“Thank you.” She says with a shaky breath. 

“She is not safe yet.” Solas says, “And we need to go, lest we attract the attention of the demons still hanging around.” 

“I agree.” Cullen said as he looked around them. It felt like they were being set up. 

The Qunari nods her head and moves back to the path that will lead them down the mountain. She grabs her shield and sword as she goes. The mage and Solas follow after. The dwarf looks at the place where the child fell out of. She only shakes her head and sighs, “This is creepy shite and we are stuck in the middle of it. Just fucking  _ great _ .” 


	3. The Killing Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idle hands do the devils work, but broken hands can do no work at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:   
> Ebasit=It is  
> imekari=child  
> kata=end/death  
> PARSHAARA=enough

The Dread Wolf was at her back. She could feel his breath washing over her and covering her in a misty warmth. His mouth had been said to open wide enough to swallow whole herds of halla in one quick snap. Tall and white with too many eyes and a mocking smile. Ashihari had told her about the Dread Wolf. Keeper Deshanna had told her a story along with the other children in the clan about the Dread Wolf that had always left her wondering if it was just a prank gone wrong instead of him trying to kill his family, the other members of their pantheon. She stood stock still and he sniffed and sniffed at her. 

She glanced down out of the corner of her eye to see what she could of the monster behind her. A massive paw with thick black claws—almost as big as a druffalo, white as snow—stood on either side of her. She was right in front of the Dread Wolf and she knew it. She knew it like she knew the sky was blue. Water was wet. The demons who wore her clan members faces had been demons. They had worn their faces well, but they had no idea who they had stolen. 

Ashihair never smiled. 

The smile gave the demon away. 

She shook her head to will away the memories, she was in deeper trouble now then she had been in before. She looked in front of her and saw something wonderful. An old grove, covered in soft moss, and large trees that wept sap the color of amber. The sky above was lost to the greens of the trees, only a soft sunlight shining down. On one side of the grove was a stone statue of Mythal, proud and strong, her wings flared open behind her. On the other side, Fen’harel, lying on his side, a sentinel overlooking the grove itself. No demon—powerful or old—would dare tread after the wolf's steps. 

Only those who wished to die did that willingly. In the center of the grove was pool of deep water, black as night. She could feel the cold from the water even as she stood a few feet from it. The Dread Wolf pushed his snout into the middle of her back and pushed her to the pool. She let him. At the edge of the pool she looked down and Ashihari looked back at her, from the bottom of the water. She flinched back and the snout was once more between her shoulders. 

Ashihair reached up and  _ out _ of the water, the blackness of it sliding like slime off of her very pale and shivering hand. She hauled herself from the water. Once—when she had lived— Ashihari had been beautiful. Her hair was auburn and shined like polished copper in the sun. Her eyes were warm and sunny, amber as the sap seeping from the trees. Her skin had been pale as moonlight. Abelas had asked her why they didn’t look alike and Ashihari had said that her father had given her the black hair and golden eyes. 

The demon had worn her face but it did not know how to make her face move like it should. It had smiled at her and asked her if she was going to give her mother a hug. Ashihari had found her, raised her and loved her. But she was not the mother who had given birth to her, and she had told Abelas that often. Ashihari loved her, Abelas never doubted that. But Ashihari never smiled and never called herself mother to anyone. Not even the three older children she  _ had  _ birthed into the world before finding Abelas in the snowy woods all alone. 

“Abelas.” the watery spirit whispered. It echoed and echoed and echoed. Abelas shut her eyes tight and covered her ears. A demon before her and the Dread Wolf behind. She didn’t have to witness her own death. The Dread Wolf settled on the ground behind her and she let her legs give out. 

The cold of the demon came closer but stopped as the small earthquake of a growl came from the Elvhen god behind her. She let her hands fall away and her eyes open. The demon with her mothers face watched her and she watched it. She felt anger rise up in her chest and choke her with its fire. If the demons hadn’t come, Clan Lavellan would still live. If the slavers hadn’t come then Ashihari wouldn’t have had to leave. She would still be alive. 

She shot to her feet and screamed at the demon so loudly it flinched back from her, “MAY THE DREAD WOLF TAKE YOU, ASHIHARI!” And he did. In one swift movement he was up and over her and the demon was dead and dust with a thundering snap of twin jaws snapping shut. Abelas fell down and looked up and up at the red, red eyes—so many eyes—of the Dread Wolf. He smiled at her, a terrible thing with too many teeth and the skin pulling back and up too far and it looked  _ wrong _ . She felt her hand smart and she clutched it to her chest at the pain that seemed to travel like lighting through it. She gulped as he became smoke and shadow and shrunk down into a mortal shape. 

He was not an old man. He was young, if she went by his hand. He wore a wolf skull over his face, and the lower jaw of a wolf around his neck. He was covered in their fur, shades of grey and black, held tight to his body with shiny leather. Shiny golden armor covered his legs. He was barefooted like her. He was standing on top of the black water as though it was a solid floor. 

His skin was just as tan her own but smooth in a way that no mortal could hope to mimic and his hair was twisted and braided tight to his scalp, the color going black from the roots fading down into a deep, deep, blood red. The hair was long—brushing his ankles as he moved—that the ends were held together with little bones that laughed and twinkled as he moved his head. He bowed to her. She stood on shaking legs and bowed to him. He was watching her from under the wolf skull that covered his face. She watched him back. He pointed to her hand, the one that hurt so badly. 

She looked down at it and saw that black tar oozed and gushed sluggishly from the wound she had no memory of getting, running under her fingers and slowly opening wider and wider along her palm. She looked up at him and he held out his hand to her. She looked at the black pool of water. He tapped his foot on it and it became black glass before her eyes. She took hesitant steps on the glass and held her hand out to him. He had very long nails. He scrapped the ooze from the wound and under it was a word. 

An old rune. She had seen them in some of the holy sites. He traced it gently with his very long and sharp nail. He held her hand very softly. The glass under her feet was very warm. Like bath water! It chased the pain in her feet away. 

She kept her guard up. The Dread Wolf was a trickster and he had played pranks. But he had also killed in cold blood before as well. She watched him as he bent to look at her hurting hand. He lifted his mask up only slightly and placed a kiss on the rune. The pain eased and then faded. He let his mask settle back into place. 

“I’m so sorry, little one.” he said and then the glass was gone and she was falling.

*************

The way back down the mountain is easier than the fight up it had been. The child shivers and whimpers in the larger arms that hold her close. The bloody sword is held in a tight grip and the Qunari looks ready to kill anyone who tries to stop her. Solas keeps pace with her even though she towers over him. Once they are safely inside of Haven and the Chantry, the child is taken by the apothecary to a small room to be treated, as per Cassandra's order. Solas goes with her and once the door shuts Leliana is there, her eyes looking for lies that have yet to be said. The Qunari watches the door where the child had been taken. The mage, Damen, shoots Cullen nervous looks, eyes lingering on his sword at his hip. Still coated in fresh demon blood. The dwarf looks bored. It is Varric, the storyteller and old “friend” from Kirkwall that breaks the heavy silence. 

“Well... _ shit _ . Who died?” he asks as he comes toward them, fixing his gloves, coy smirk ever on his face. Cassandra shoots him a glare which he doesn’t even bother to flinch at or even acknowledge.

“The Conclave is  _ gone _ . Everyone is  _ dead _ .” Cassandra says gruffly, crossing her arms and glaring at the three people who seemed to be tied to all of this in some odd way. 

“Or so we assume. Until my people can confirm it, there may be more than one survivor, Cassandra.” Leliana says, her mouth set into a firm line. The Qunari doesn’t even spare them a glance. Varric and the dwarf talk softly until he lets out a warm chuckle. They all look at him. Varric nudges the mage and he jumps before looking down at Varric, his hand twisting into each other.

“Introduce yourself, kid. It might help all of you out. The Seeker isn’t going to just let this go unless you can prove that you didn’t level a mountain top.” Varric says as he leans against one of the pillars that hold the Chantry up. Damen looks at him as though he has grown a second head and put several feet between him and Varric. He shakes his head. The dwarf rolls her eyes and gives him a light punch in the knee. 

She uses both of her arms to gesture to the room at large, her tone irratated, “Just tell them. It’s not like  _ we _ did this shite.” 

“Orta, I-I can’t just  _ tell _ them about me! We don’t  _ know _ these people! We should have  **never** come here and it’s all  _ my fault. _ If I had just left well enough alone w-w-we would be far from this place.” he says, eyes fluttering as he tries to force the words he trips over into the room. At this—finally—the Qunari, Maraas, turns and looks at him. He ducks his head under her gaze. She reaches out and grips his shoulder in a firm grip. 

“The past is done and dead.  _ Ebasit _ . The now weighs us down. And the fate of my  _ imekari  _ in the hands of the unknown.” She turned to look back at the door, “This place can not be her  _ kata _ .”

_ She is stressed,  _ Damen thinks to himself as he look at her, a frown on his face  _ if she’s using Qun words in front of these people. Abelas, you had better live because Maraas might just level the rest of the mountain if you don’t.  _

“ _ Look _ ,” Orta said with a sneer on her face, “we came here because mage boy over there,” she pointed to Damen with her thumb, “was invited on behalf of his family.” 

“What is your family name?” Cassandra snapped at Damen. He gulped very loudly and looked down his feet, muttering his answer. Cassandra narrowed her eyes, “Speak up.” 

“T-trevelyan. My name is Damen Trevelyan.” he said, eyes watery and body trying to fold into itself. Cullen watched as the Qunari gave his shoulder another squeeze before her attention was once more drawn to the door where the elf was being treated. Outside the walls of Haven, demons rained down on them. It was the end of the world. Leliana seemed to be thinking before she let out one of her very well practiced chuckles. 

“I know  _ you _ . The mage from Tevinter who became a black sheep and ran away. And his  _ family _ even calls him the black sheep. They live in the Free Marches. Your father would not come but he thought that you might.” she said with an easy smile on her face. Even Cullen could see the sharp edges hidden behind her plump lips. 

Orta gave a sharp bark of laughter, “We came to tell you all to shove it where the sun don’t shine. Like this fucking “ _ peaceful _ ” meeting between Templars,” at this she pointed to Cullen and then Cassandra with a very accusing finger, “and mages,” she pointed to Damen who looked down once more and did not raise his head again, “was going to be anything but a shit storm. Turns out we just happened to be really,  _ really _ , right.” 

“Most Holy called this meeting!” Cassandra said, her fists clenching shut and her stance growing hostile. Orta gave her a condescending smirk. 

“And look how that turned out.” Orta said slowly, the smirk still firmly in place. Cassandra growled at the dwarf and made to draw her sword, while the dwarf went for her daggers. The Qunari turned, her red hair like a battle flag as she spun on her heel to glare at all of them. 

Maraas bellowed at them, her voice echoing in the empty halls, “ **_PARSHAARA_ ** !” 

They all looked at her, their jaws open in shock. Even in battle, the Qunari hadn’t been half as loud as she had been. Varric shook his head. The two women put their weapons away, but still glared at each other. Leliana looked at Maraas for a very long moment, before letting her gaze settle into the middle place of their group. 

“Your friend has a point.” Varric says with a quick scoffing chuckle.  

“I do not care.” Maraas said, “The fact stands that they do not trust  _ us _ and we do not trust  _ them _ . But we need to. This will not be over.” 

At this the door opened and Solas stepped out, looked at their group and nodded his head before coming to stand before them all, hands clasped behind his back, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the child may yet live.” 

“That’s  _ great _ . That’s means once we clear up our non-existence part in blowing up a mountain we can fucking leave.” Orta said with a fake smile on her face before she folded her arms over her chest. Solas looked at her and shook his head. 

“That is the bad news. The mark is killing her. Slowly but surely.” 

Maraas bowed her head, “So I once more will lose another.” 

“Maraas,” Damen said and touched her arm. She jerked it away from him. 

Solas spoke, “I do have a theory.” 

“What could you possible know about this, Solas?” Cassandra asked with a stern look her face. Cullen came to stand next to her. 

“Indeed.” he said and crossed his arms. 

Solas gave them a very bored look before looking back to Maraas, “I am a Fade mage. I walk in the Fade as I sleep. The mark upon her hand had magic placed there by a powerful relic. If it caused the hole in the sky that leads into the Fade to appear, then she might be able to bend the mark to her will and close the wound.” 

“That’s  _ great _ . Let’s wake the kid up and try to shut the sky up before it vomits even more  _ demons _ on us.” Orta said as she threw her hands up. Varric chuckled. 

Maraas looked at Solas for a long, long time, “She will live?” 

“Possibly.” he answered. 

“Either you know,” Cassandra said tightly, “or you do  _ not _ . Which is it?” 

Damen answered her, “Magic isn’t cut and dry like learning how to use a sword. Most of it guess work. And if you guess wrong bad things happen.” 

“How so?” Leliana asked him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Simple.” Solas answered her, unclasping his hands so they could meet in front of him instead, “You must have a strong hypothesis. It is a simple yet effect way to test your theory before testing it out for real world consequences.” 

“None of us are mages,  _ Chuckles _ . Except for Wall Flower over there.” Varric said, his sly smirk still on his face even as the world outside darkened. The sounds of demons screaming as they fell from the sky could be heard. Varric shook his head, “You’ll have to speak in little words we can understand for us.” 

“It would be easier to show you.” he said slowly. 

Damen looked at him as though he was crazy, “It’s not that hard to explain.” 

“Then you explain it, Damen.” Orta said with a put upon sigh. 

Solas nodded his head, “Please do. I must get back to the mark to make sure it does not spread each time the sky pulses with magic. Excuse me.” with that he was gone once more, the door shut behind him firmly. They all looked at Damen. He blushed and looked down. 

He cleared his throat and spoke, “Solas was right. It has to have a strong hypothesis.  _ If _ the mark was put there on her hand by a magic relic from a bygone age, then the magic which caused the breach in the sky  _ could _ be reversed to seal the hole. But it has to be the first rift into the Fade, or it won’t stop the sky breaking apart.”

Cullen opened his mouth to ask a question when a soldier ran in and slammed the door shut behind him. Bolting it shut. Cullen had caught a glimpse of the angry crowd outside. He flashed back to Kirkwall and shook his head to chase the memories away. That was then, this was now and right now the world was ending. They needed a plan and they needed it soon. The soldier ran up and gave a quick salute. Cassandra and Cullen nodded their head and the soldier spoke. Her eyes wide. 

“Commander, Seeker. The town in ready to tear this place apart. They saw you bring someone back down the mountain and they want that person. They want that person real bad. They are ready to burn this building down, Chantry or no Chantry.” 

“That person,” Cullen said with a tight frown on his face, “is a young girl. Barely older than four years old if I had to guess.” 

“Six.” the three companions said in unison. 

“Six then. She’s six!” Cullen said as he threw up his own arms in anger. The soldier just looked at them and their helpless face made Cassandra sigh heavily as she pinched her nose. Cullen looked around and noticed that Leliana had slipped away some time ago.

Varric took his crossbow off his back and began to clean it with a cloth from his pocket, “Seeker, I have been around long enough to know that angry people outside of a building are prone to do  _ very _ drastic things.” 

“I will speak with them.” Cassandra said as she and the soldier moved back to the door. Slamming it shut as they went. Cullen turned toward the group. 

“This will work? If the girl is alright?” he asked.

Damen nodded his head, “I think so.” 

“Then we should pray that she awakens soon.” he said and turned to go and help Cassandra. 

Maraas watched him go and wondered how a man so hefted with ghost could walk so tall. She turned her head at the sound of the door opening. Solas once more came out, holding his head and slumping as he walked. He shook it off as she came to stand before him. For an elf he was tall and he did not try to look at a spot on her face instead of her eyes. He looked right into them. And she saw not a mage but something else. 

He did not tell the truth, but he was not lying either. He rubbed her the wrong way and she trusted him as far as she could throw him. And she could throw people like paper balls. He gave a slight incline on his head to her before he spoke. 

“She is stable, for now. But until the portal into the Fade is sealed, the mark will grow and it will kill her. I have done all I can. Once the elfroot and rashvine mix the apothecary gave her wears off she will be able to talk to you.”

“Did the kid say anything?” Orta asked as she came to stand next to Maraas. 

Solas looked at her and said, softly, “She was talking to someone I could not see. She called out for someone called Ashihari. And asked that the Dread Wolf take them.” 

“She said he died,” Damen piped up and then flinched when Solas looked at him with a quick sideways glare, “she said he had died a long time ago. Or she hoped he had died anyway.” 

“So she’s Dalish?” Varric chuckled as he put his cloth away, “Knew a girl like her back in Kirkwall. Got told  _ a lot _ of stories about you elves and your gods. Personally, all of them sounded like mean sons of bitches.” 

“All figures from myth are. Especially if they turn out to be real people who were probably not all that great to know in the first place.” Orta said with a shrug. 

“Well said, Firecracker.” Varric said with a smirk as he moved to the door. 

“Thanks, Storyteller.” Orta called out. Varric let out a bark of laughter. 

“Wh-what do you think, Maraas?” Damen asked. Maraas moved to the door that hide her child from her. She opened it and shut it behind her softly. She would ask her child what she wanted to do. After all, children should have a right to choose how their lives would play out.

**********

The girl woke up at the dawn of the next day. All night they had fought the demons, while The Breach in the sky opened wider and wider. A swirling green mass that didn’t care who it hurt. Maraas explained to her what had happened and what they needed to do. Abelas had only nodded her head, eyes wide and haunted. She was dressed in a thick wool cloak and a scarf was wrapped over her ears and tied off under her chin. Cassandra watched as Maraas put on heavy armor, testing each joint. 

When she was done she folded a blanket and the child clung to her back, the blanket between her and the cold armor. The heavy shield was put on, smashing the girl between the wood and the blanket, holding her in place. Her whole body covered. Damen and Orta had left with Solas and Varric to go to the forward camp. Cullen and his men had been fighting up and down the mountain the whole night and day. They made their way back up the mountain as the sky became a lighter shade of green to the west and the pale honey pink color of dawn in the east. Abelas lifted her head up and over the lip of the iron and wooden shield to look at the dawn. 

She had seen those colors many times in her life. Pink and blue and honeysuckle yellow, the whole of the world soft and quiet on the edges of waking and sleeping. It was a dawn like this that had been the prelude to the bloodshed done by demons and Clan Lavellan being erased from the world. The wind danced between them, bringing with it the smell of death and snow and the Fade as is slithered down into the mortal world. She ducked her head back down, hiding her face in the thick red hair of Maraas. It wasn’t like her hair. It was coarse and thick. 

She held onto Maraas with her knees and her arms around her collarbone. She closed her eyes and hoped that she could help. Cassandra didn’t speak to her. What would she say to a child? She did speak to Maraas. Warriors had common ground. 

“You are not carrying the sword you had yesterday.” Cassandra said after an hour up the mountain. Maraas looked at her and then back at the road as they walked. 

“It is on my hip,” she answered, “but Abelas is with us now. The shield is for her. The two handed maul will do just fine.” 

Cassandra touched her own sword, still hidden in its sheath, “You were very skilled with that sword. Are all Qunari taught to use so many weapons?” 

Maraas gave a light chuckle, “I was not taught to use weapons while under The Qun. I was a child raiser. When I left, I taught myself. It was easy to learn how to kill. It came like a memory we forget we had.” 

“I see. Is that why you are raising, Abelas?” Cassandra inquired. 

At her name, Abelas lifted her head and looked right at Cassandra. Maraas answered her, “Abelas was left alone in the world. I was alone even while I was with my comrades. She has made me a happy mother again.” 

“You had a child?” Cassandra asked in shock as they crossed over the first bridge, after calling out to open the gate that would lead them to the path. The path lead to another bridge that crossed over the river. The forward camp was not too far after that. Maraas seemed to look far into the distance, at a place and a time that only she had suffered through. 

“I had a whole room of children I took care of. War took them from this world and my happiness with them.” She answered. The sky gave a low groan and a display of lighting and thunder screamed out above them. Abelas gave a low whimper and clutched her wrist on the arm that was the harbor for the mark on her hand. Maraas stopped and lifted Abelas from her back and placed her down in front of her. Abelas fell to her knees, holding the wrist of her infected hand, eyes closed tightly as tears slumped down her plump cheeks. 

Maraas soothed her hair back from her face. Cassandra bent to one knee, just as Maraas had done, and looked at the mark that seemed to pulse and grow. It stopped when the sky did. Abelas looked at her, eyes shiny with tears and sorrow she did not voice. Cassandra felt a twinge of anger at the pain a  _ child _ had to go through. Abelas looked right at her. Polished gold highlighted by the green glow of the Fade above. Abelas had not been raised to let her pain show. 

“The mark on your hand expands with the sky,” Cassandra said as Abelas got to her feet all on her own, swaying unsteady, “and it  _ is _ killing you.” 

“I know. Fen’harel told me that.” Abelas said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Maraas and Cassandra both got to their feet and shared a look. 

“Who?” Cassandra asked Abelas. 

“The Dread Wolf.” Abelas said as she rubbed her infected arm, “He talked to me while I was sleeping. He told me that he was sorry. He told me what Tama told me. I have to seal the sky up or else my hand would kill me.” 

“You don’t seem worried about this.” Cassandra said as she crossed her arms in front of, letting them rest over her stomach. Abelas looked down the road, where three soldiers ran down past them, screaming about the end of the world. Maraas shook her head as they passed and continued on, grabbing Abelas by the hand as they went. Cassandra followed after and Abelas kept pace, even though she was much smaller. 

“People die.” Abelas said after a long silence and it shocked Cassandra to hear such a young girl say something so dark so casually, and that was that. As the crossed the second bridge a green mist hit it so hard that it broke apart. Everyone and everything fell down onto the icy river below. Maraas curled herself around Abelas and her back slammed down into the ice, the back of her head hitting the shield, causing a ringing in her ears. She moved her body to the left, still holding onto Abelas. She opened her eyes with a grimace of pain. The world was tilting but she could see Cassandra using some of the broken crates they had landed on to push herself up.

Behind her two shadows lurched and jerked out of their inky confinement and into demons with glowing eyes. She looked down at Abelas who was fine. She picked herself up and charged at the first demon. Cassandra went for the second. The maul slammed into the demon; left, right, down, right, up. The demon took a swipe at her and Maraas turned so the claws carved into the shield. She spun again and the maul crashed into the demon's face and it was no more. 

Cassandra slide her sword out of the chest of the other demon and it faded away with a shriek. Maraas turned to look at Abelas, who had taken to hiding behind the stack of broken crates that Cassandra had used to lift herself up. She ran to Maraas and hugged her tightly. Maraas pet the top of her head. The scarf had come off. 

“Where is the camp?” she asked Cassandra, turning to look at her. Cassandra wiped the blood from her sword before using it to point north-west. 

“If we follow the path we should be able to reach the forward camp.” Cassandra said, “But we are no longer on the road. And more demons seem to be about. We should tread carefully.” 

“Agreed.” Maraas said, and lifted Abelas up and onto her back one more. Abelas slid down into the pocket where she could hide. As they moved out they kept their weapons at the ready. It wasn’t long before they came across more demons. Slashing, smashing, dodging, and ducking. Abelas held onto Maraas as tightly as she could.

They soon came upon the sound of fighting and Abelas could hear Orta as she cursed and laughed with someone. Then she was taken out of the pocket and placed onto the ground, behind a low wall. Maraas smiled once at her, tired and tight, before going back into the fray. She looked over the low wall and could see a hole in the space in front of her, glowing with an open portal into the Fade, the demons came from it and got sent back through when they had taken too much damage. She looked at the portal and her hand shivered and shook all on its own. She looked down at it and saw that it was glowing blue, not green. She was struck with an idea. 

She jumped over the low wall, ducking and weaving between the fight. She ran past Damen who called out for her to stop but she kept going. As she stood before the portal she lifted her hand. the mark facing the portal and she closed her eyes and the light shot out of her hand and slammed into the portal. It closed slowly and once it was shut, she was very tired. She fell onto her bottom, chest heaving and hand hurting. She rubbed the palm that had the mark. 

A hand—pale with long fingers—was held out to her and she looked up at an elf she felt like she had met before. She was helped up and he smiled at her. She felt her mouth twitch, but she didn’t smile. 

“I am pleased that you still live.” the elf told her in a fatherly tone. He wasn’t Dalish. He wore no marks upon his face. A city elf then. 

“He means,” a warm voice says behind her, and she turns. A dwarf with a lot of chest hair and a fancy crossbow, is the one who is speaking, “that he kept that mark from killing you while you slept.”

She turns to the elf and gives him a nod, “Thank you.” 

“My name is Solas if there are to be introductions.” he says and hold out his hand to her. She shakes his hand and the mark seems to quiet down as they touch palms. When she takes her hand away the pain is much lesser. 

“Varric Tethras, at your service, little lady.” the dwarf says as he comes to stand next her, giving her a short bow. It was a mockery of one, like how Orta like to do to her. A sign that he wasn’t a bad person he just had bad habit. Abelas liked him already.  

Orta wiped her daggers off and came to stand next to Varric. She smiled at Abelas, “Hey kid. How you feeling?” 

Abelas smiled back, “I’m... **OK** . I guess.” 

Damen moved to stand next to Solas, “That’s good. We were worried about you. Does...do-does your hand  _ hurt _ you at all?” 

Abelas shook her head, “What happened? Tama told me but I don’t really get it. What happened to this place? It didn’t look like this when I came looking for all  _ you _ .” 

Varric is the one who answers her, “Well kid, the world is ending.” 

“We are up shit creek with  _ no _ paddle.” Orta adds. 

“Orta!” Maraas snapped. 

“The kid needs to know!” Orta says. Damen shakes his head. 

“We need to keep moving.” Cassandra said as the sky gave another tremble. They all began to move, and Abelas didn’t want to be carried. Her head was starting to hurt. As the demons came to them she moved out of the way. Spells, arrows, daggers, maul, sword. Duck, dash, spin, jump, block, parry, switch. 

They moved once more, up the hill onto a smooth ice lake. Varric and Orta talked about something called the Carta and a Merchants Guild. Damen and Solas didn’t speak much at all. They came upon another rift and Abelas had to wait until an opening was presented to her. When it was, she dove, sliding on her side in the snow until she was right in front of the rift that had opened in front of the gate that separated them from the forward camp. She lifted her hand and this time the pain crawled up into her shoulder, up her neck and into her temple. Her eyes watered.

She heard someone call out her name and she turned her head to the right. A shade demon lunged at her and she felt something hot spark in her hand. She didn’t even think. She  _ acted _ . She held up her other hand and black fire came to her aid. The demon gave a shriek as it was engulfed in flames and the rift closed as the last remains of it drifted back to the Fade. Now both of her hands hurt her.

She looked at her family and the people who had helped them. None of them seemed to even notice. Except Solas. He was looking at her with narrowed eyes, like how Ashihari used to do when she  _ knew  _ Abelas had been bad but she no proof to punish her yet. She ducked her head. Maraas picked her up and put her back into her safe spot on her wide back once more. She let her body rest.

Everything hurt now. Her feet from the cold. Her hands from their funny tricks. Her head pounded like a war drum. She kept her eyes open though. She was afraid to close them. She didn’t know why, but she was afraid to close them even though she really wanted to. 

As they moved out of the valley and onto the bridge leading to the Temple of Sacred Ashes a man in the holy clothing of the Chantry stopped them. He had been talking to Leliana but once he saw Cassandra he stalked over to them. Cassandra gave him a scowl. He returned her glare with one of his own. Marass looked between them.

“ _ Roderick _ ,” Cassandra said, “what do you want?” 

“I order you to take these  **criminals** ,” he pointed to Maraas, and swept it over Damen and Orta, with a forceful finger, “to Val Royeaux for  _ execution _ !” 

Abelas had never seen a human go from angry and flesh colored to angry and purple in the face, but Cassandra did it in one swift moment. She was watching from over the iron covered shoulder of Maraas, and the other human—Roderick as Cassandra had called him—didn’t notice her. She had a feeling that if he had seen her he would have pointed to her instead. 

“Order  _ me _ ?! You are glorified clerk! A  _ bureaucrat _ ! I take order from Most Holy!” Cassandra snapped at him, her fist clenched at her sides and mouth twisted down into a scowl. 

“You serve the  _ principles _ on which the Chantry was founded on!” Roderick yelled back at her, poking his finger into her chest. 

“We serve the Most Holy. As you well know.” Leliana said briskly, coming to stand between them with her arms folded behind her back. 

“ **_Justina is dead_ ** !” Roderick bellowed at them. Both Cassandra and Leliana gave him a glare worthy enough to skin a dragon. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong here, but isn’t closing the  _ demon hole in the sky  _ more important than arguing over who tells who to do what?” Orta asked with a bored look on her face as she leaned on the table that Roderick had been using, using her fist to hold her face up, her cheek pushing up into her left eye. 

“The Temple isn’t far.” Leliana said as she crossed her arms over her chest, her face stern, “but we have a problem.” 

“What else is new?” Varric joked. 

“Demons are everywhere here, so near to the epicenter of The Breach. We can try to push ahead to the Temple proper and risk the soldiers we have left,” Leliana said as she pointed behind her where the remains of what was once a bridge seemed to lead down to some kind of war zone if the sounds of fighting floating on the wind told Abelas anything, “ _ or _ we can try and sneak around the Temple, and go in through the back, by using the mountains.” 

“We have already lost a  _ squad _ to those mountains!” Roderick squealed in rage, “Pull back Seeker. This is a lost cause.” 

“Why can’t we do both?” Abelas asked softly in the silence that followed Rodericks rage. He turned to glare at her and she ducked her head back down. Cassandra seemed to think for a moment and then gave a small sigh. 

“What do you think, Abelas?” Cassandra asked softly, turning to look at her. 

“You’re asking her?” Roderick asked aghast. 

“She has the mark.” Solas said in way of explanation. 

Roderick clicked his tongue, “Yes.  _ The child who lived. _ After  _ everyone _ and  _ everything _ else was killed and the breach in the sky came to darken our lives.” 

Maraas swung her maul toward Roderick and he threw up his arms as though he meant to stop it and her maul stopped inches from his face. He looked at the maul with fear in his eyes, and Maraas spoke in a clipped tone to him, “If you have something to say, then do so.” 

Abelas knew that this man was afraid and that was why he was being so mean. She pushed the shield away and slid down to the ground. She took the blanket with her and wrapped it tightly around her as the wind pushed against her. She looked at the mountain path and then back at Cassandra, “Tama and you are good fighters. And we have enough people that we can try and find the missing people. It might be a good idea to split up and then meet back up later.” 

“That does sound fair.” Leliana said with a smile. 

“Abelas,” Maraas said and the child looked up at her, “this is  _ not _ a game. Your choices  _ will _ have real world consequences. Every choice must be well thought out. You can not just  _ choose _ and say sorry later. A sorry does not fix the loss of life.” 

Abelas nodded her head with a solemn expression of determination, “I have my reasons, Tama.” Maraas looked at her for a long moment before nodding her head. 

“Great. The kid is calling the shots.” Orta said a with snort and a smirk. 

Abelas spoke, “Solas and Damen are mages, Orta and Varric are rogues. Tama and Miss Cassandra are warriors. We can split up. One of each in the group. One goes to find the missing squad and the other goes to help Miss Leliana to charge.” 

“Well... _ shit _ .” Varric said with a chuckle, “The kid might be better at war than Curly.” 

“I agree.” Cassandra said. As they moved into groups, Roderick glared at them all. Cassandra, Orta, and Damen were the group to go and find the missing squad. Maraas, Solas, Varric and Leliana would charge. As they went to move out, Roderick spoke. 

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.” 

Cassandra held her shoulders very stiff as she walked away with Orta and Damen following. Abelas was told to follow last, that Maraas would call for her. She nodded her head and watched as they left to go and fight the demons. Roderick looked down his nose at her and she smiled, or at least tried to, back at him. He threw up his hands and muttered as he walked away. She looked around and saw many white clothed shapes on the ground. Human shapes with red stains on them. 

She saw a few women in the holy clothing, saying soft prayers with tears running down their face. Abelas took a step to try and go comfort her when she heard her name. She went running to Maraas, the wind ripping the blanket off of her shoulders. She took a small jump down the broken ridge. She slide down it until the edge came into view. She tried to slow down and her feet caught on the rocks, she was sitting on the ground, the snow creeping into her clothing as she sat on the patch of rocky ice half covered in snow. As she jerked to a stop, rocks falling down to the battle below, she caught her breath and looked up, a rift glared out at her. 

A new human was down there, back to back with Maraas. He had golden hair and dressed in red. Demons slipped out of the rift. Each one that was killed another took its place. She braced herself for the pain and lifted her marked hand as she stood on the narrow ledge she had caught herself on. The rift wasn’t closing. It snapped back at her and the demons gave a scream of horror before swaying in place, stunned. She fell down to her knees, her eyes watering and her world spinning. 

A ghostly voice seemed to whisper inside of her mind, “ _ Let your power consume you. These demons are beneath you and should bend to your will.”  _

She had heard that voice before but she couldn’t remember where.  __

The rift still need to be closed. She forced herself to stand and caught herself by sheer will alone. She lifted her hand again and began to make a fist. It felt like something was fighting her. As the last demon bellowed its demise her hand became a fist and the rift closed with a huff. She fell onto her butt once more and caught her breath. Maraas looked around for her and found her. She came to stand under her and Abelas scooted to the edge and flipped onto her belly. She lowered herself slowly and then she felt her ankles being held by Maraas. She let go and Maraas caught her. She smiled at her and Maraas gave her forward a kiss. She was carried to the center of the battle and the new human looked at her and gave her a tired smile. 

“Hello.” he said in a friendly tone. 

Abelas gave him a tired smile, “Hello.” 

“Did you close the rift just now?” he asked, pointing to the spot where it had been moments ago. Abelas nodded her head. 

“Curly, let the kid rest for a minute.” Varric said as he walked over to them. 

“Varric, my name is Cullen.” Cullen sighed. 

“Your men are hurt.” Maraas said as she set down Abelas who held onto her strong leg while the world swayed. She saw Cassandra and the others come running from the left hand side of the battlefield. Cassandra waved at them as they got closer. Maraas waited for them patiently. Cullen turned to look at them. 

“Cullen.” Cassandra said as she caught her breath. 

“Seeker Pentaghast.” Cullen said with a nod of his head and then turned to help his injured men back to the forward camp. Leliana and Cassandra spoke softly and then Leliana gave a happy sigh of ‘thank the Maker’ before they moved to Temple of Sacred Ashes. As they entered, the burnt remains of those who died seemed to accuse Abelas as she passed them. A cold light shone down on her and she looked up, using her marked hand to try and block as much of the light as she could. It did little to help. Orta gave a low whistle. 

“I don’t think I can climb up that far.” Abelas said and Solas chuckled. 

“You need not go to The Breach, _ da’len _ . Only the rift for it was the first and it is the key.  _ There. _ Seal it and perhaps we seal The Breach.” he pointed to a much lower point. A scar of green. Abelas nodded her head and Maraas helped her along. As they moved down the ruined Temple she saw something glowing red. Varric sucked in a sacred breath. 

“You know that’s  _ red lyrium, _ Seeker.” he said. 

Cassandra answered him tensely, “I  _ see _ it, Varric.” 

“But what’s it doing  _ here _ ?” Varric asked and Solas gave an answer. 

“The Breach might have corrupted lyrium below the Temple.” 

“Maybe.” Varric said unconvinced. 

Suddenly, as the rounded the next corner looking for a safe path down, a voice that seemed to freeze the blood inside of Abelas echoed out,  _ “Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.” _ she  **_knew_ ** that voice. 

She clung tighter to Maraas. The others had drawn their weapons, looking for the source. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Orta hissed out. 

Then a new voice echoed out. This voice Abelas felt she knew as well. This voice was nicer. She could taste sugary tea coating her tongue as it called out in fear,  _ “Someone help me!”  _

_ “Keep the sacrifice still.”  _ the voice echoed again. The voice who was so dark in her mind. As they came down to the level of the rift her hand ached and then ghostly images came into being. A shadow with red, red eyes and a woman she felt she had seen before. 

“Most holy!” Cassandra breathed out. They watched as the shadow held up an orb and the woman—Most Holy, Justina—shook in fear. Then, Abelas was there. Tiny and afraid. The ghost faded and Cassandra looked down at Abelas. 

“Most Holy called out to  _ you _ .” she said in confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” Abelas said, “I...I don’t remember  _ anything _ . All I remember is going to find my Tama and my friends and then...a woman of light. After that I spoke to Fen’harel. But I don’t  _ remember _ this. I’m sorry, Miss Cassandra.” 

Solas stepped forward and looked a the rift closely before turning to them, “This rift is sealed, albeit temporarily. If it is sealed correctly, then it should seal The Breach.” 

Cassandra nodded her head, “That means demons. Everyone stand ready!” 

Abelas looked at the green scar, and the smoke that spilled out and up into the sky. She didn’t  _ remember _ making a hole like this or even trying to  _ fix _ this. Everyone was ready behind her. She took a deep breath and once more raised her hand. It felt so numb at this point. The pain didn’t even phase her as the hole was ripped open. She quickly ran for cover behind one of the destroyed pillars. 

She caught her breath as she held her hand close to her. Demons screamed and shrieked their joy for being freed. She tried to rub feeling back into her hand. She looked at her palm. The mark was black as night and twisting snakes like veins were crawling up her hands and into her wrist. She pushed down into her palm and watched a wisps of blue smoke came out. They smelled of rotting meat. 

She gagged but kept pushing down and up. The mark hurt less and she could feel again. She chanced a look. A lot of dead demons. She held up her hand once more and then something huge stepped out. It shook the ground as it landed. She had never seen a demon so big. 

It lifted its plate covered head and looked right at her. She froze in fear. It opened its mouth in a mocking smile and stood at its full height. The roar it let loose shook the whole Temple and caused many to stumble in its wake. She flung herself back into the stone and pulled her legs into her chest. Demons. She slapped herself on the top of her head and the pain cleared her thoughts. 

She was not afraid. Only the living could know victory. She was going to live. But how to kill the demon? It was much bigger. An idea struck her. Too many living demons near a rift kept it from closing, since she could not get close enough to will the rift closed, but her trying to close it from afar had caused the demons to be hurt and stunned. 

A  _ stunned _ demon was an easier target. It would hurt but she would try. She once more peeked out and the demon was trying to smash Cassandra and Maraas but they kept dodging. Damen and Solas were keeping the shades away from them. Varric, Leliana and Ortra were getting the wisps. Maybe the stun would kill the weaker demons. She gripped her marked hand by its wrist and held it up.

The rift snapped back at her but she pushed. The snap back did, in fact, kill a few demons. The larger one fell to one knee. Varric turned his crossbow on it, while Cassandra worked on the left leg. Maraas was trying to cripple the knee of the leg that was on the ground. Damen shot a few fire spells off and Solas put up a new barrier. Abelas hide once more, holding her hand tightly to her chest. 

Her whole arm felt  _ broken _ . But the rift was weaker. She could feel it. She just needed a second wind was all. As the bigger demon got up and more of the weaker ones fell, everyone was attacking it now. She got to her legs, shaking and weak under her. She took deep breaths and looked at where the demons was as it shot out twin whips of lightning. 

_ “You were born for a great purpose.”  _ the ghostly voice whispered in her mind. She shook her head and focused. She didn’t have time to think about where she had heard it before. She looked once more for the demon. The lighting could kill her. She had seen people hit by it before. 

Far away. Good. She ran to the rift and held her hand up. She could  _ feel _ her arm break and the rift fight against being closed. The large demon fell, its body shaking the ground under her feet. She gave a scream and pushed all of her will into closing the rift. It did not go quietly. 

She was knocked back and down and her head hit the stone. She watched as the world spilt and swirled above her, the sky shaking and then closing like a tired eye. She closed her eyes as well.

**************

Her head was hurting her. In the early night Abelas woke from deep sleep—suddenly—as if some sound or presence had disturbed her. She saw that she was not where she had been last. Or even back in the Chantry. 

She did see though that she was back at the place she had last spoken to Fen’harel. He was across from her, sitting cross legged on the cool, black glass. His eyes gleamed in the light of the mage fire that floated around them, but he made no sign to acknowledge her or movement to get up and greet her. Abelas soon went to sleep again or perhaps passed out into a different dream; but her dreams were again troubled with the noise of wind and of beating wings. The wind seemed to be curling round her and shaking her bones; and far off she heard a bone shattering roar. She opened her eyes, and heard a dove cooing lustily somewhere in the trees above her. Fen’harel was on the other side of the clearing, speaking to someone in the mirror who only shook their head sadly before they faded slowly away. 

The first grey light of day was in the mirror, and a cold air was coming though it. She went to him and stood next to him. On the other side of the mirror she could see a small lake full of water-lilies. She touched the glass with her marked hand and the imaged cracked and shattered as thousands of bloody hands slammed into the glass, leaving jagged nail marks as they clawed at it. She tried to pull her hand away but a glowing hand of white light caught her as it shot of the large mirror and tugged her closer. She tugged back, hitting the hand around her wrist. She heard a thousand voices echo and speak as one. 

**_“You are a dead thing made by a dead power in the shape of the dead. All you will ever do is kill. You do not belong here. This is a place of life.”_ **

**_************_ **

She jerked awake in a sunny room in warm clothing with a gasp. She looked around and the other elf in the room looked at her, mouth wide open. Abelas looked at her. She looked at Abelas. She fell to her knees, speaking quickly and kept bowing as she backed away. Abelas only heard, “At once!” before she was out the door. Abelas held her head and then looked at her hand. 

Nothing but a faint green mark that did not hurt. Her arm wasn’t broken. She got off of the bed and smoothed the sheets she had been sleeping on. She moved to the door and opened it. A guard was there who smashed his closed fist over his heart, snapping his heels together as he did so. Bowing his head. She blinked at him and did the same. 

She inched around him and then stopped. Everyone was doing the same thing. Blocking her way. She gulped but moved slowly on the path they had set for her. She was at the Chantry door soon enough where Cullen was rubbing his temples and muttering curses under his breath. When he saw her he nodded his head and held open the door for her. She went inside and he followed after, the large oak doors closing softly behind him. 

At the end of the hall angry voices spilled out from under the door. Cullen didn’t knock. He opened the door and pushed her inside gently. Roderick turned a glare at her and snapped his fingers at the guards in the room and then pointed to her. 

“Put her  _ chains _ ! I want her ready to be moved to the capital for trail as soon as possible.” he snapped. Cullen pushed her behind him as Maraas pushed herself from the wall and came to tower over Roderick who looked suddenly, very timid before an angry Qunari mother on behalf of her child. 

“Put in her chains and you’ll wear your  _ spine _ as a crown.” she growled out. Cassandra and Leliana both had very smug looks on their faces as he ducked away from Maraas who went to Cullen and plucked Abelas from the floor. Abelas hugged her tightly. 

“Disregard that and leave us.” Cassandra said calmly. The guards snapped to attention and then gave her very low bows on the way out. Cullen shut the door behind them. 

“You walk a dangerous line,  _ Seeker _ .” he hissed at Cassandra, his face pinched in anger. 

Cassandra came to stand before him, her tone firm and fierce, “The Breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will  _ not _ ignore it.” 

“I’m sorry, Miss Cassandra. I tried.” Abelas said softly. Maraas made a soft cooing noise and Abelas let her head fall onto the warm, and familiar shoulder of Maraas. Maraas pet her hair and began to hum softly as she rocked. 

“She is  _ still _ a suspect even after all she’s done?” Cullen asked the room, his tone bordering on being equal parts upset and disappointed. 

“Yes she absolutely is.” Roderick sneered. 

“ _ No _ ,” Cassandra countered, “she is  _ not _ .” 

Leliana came to stand next to Cassandra, “ _ Someone _ was behind the explosion at the conclave. Someone, Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the other; or have allies who yet live.” 

Roderick seemed taken aback as he shook his head and then lifted his arms in disbelief, “ **I** am a suspect?” 

“ _ You _ and many others.” Leliana said with a sneer on her pretty face. 

“But  _ not _ the girl?” Roderick said as he looked at Abelas. 

Cassandra once more came to her defense, “I heard the voices in the Temple, the Divine called to her for help.” 

“So her  _ survival _ ,” Roderick spat, “that  _ thing _ on her hand, all a coincidence?” 

“ **_Providence_ ** .” Cassandra clarified, “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.” 

“Lucky for all of you.” Maraas muttered into the fine hair of Abelas. 

“So...everything is...alright now?” Abelas asked as she lifted her head to look at all of them. They all exchanged looks. 

Cassandra shook her head, “We must try again.” and she moved to the desk at the back of the room to go and get something. 

“The Breach remains,” Leliana told her softly, “and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“That,” Roderick said roughly, “is not for  _ you _ to decide.” 

Abelas watched as Cassandra slammed a book down on the table and pointed to it. The book was very thick and covered in iron. She glared at Roderick, “Do you know what this is  _ Chancellor _ ? A write from the Divine granting us the authority to act. As of this moment I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She advanced on Roderick causing him to backway, “We  **will** close The Breach, we  **will** find those responsible and we  **will** restore order with  _ or _ without your approval.” 

Roderick only gave her an eyeroll and left the room. Cullen slammed the door after him. Abelas was placed on the floor once more and she went over to the book on the table. It was much larger than she thought. It looked very heavy. She ran her finger over the cool metal of the book. Leliana spoke. 

“This is the Divines directive. Rebuild the Inquisition of old, finds those who would stand against the chaos.” She shook her head, “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers and now no Chantry support.” 

“But we have no choice. We must act now. With her,” Cassandra said as she looked at Abelas and then at Maraas, “and your company at our side.”

Abelas looked up at Leliana, “What is the Inquisition, anyway?” 

Leliana gave her a small smile and answered, “It proceeded the Chantry. People who banned together to restore order in a world gone mad.” 

“Afterwards,” Cullen said as he moved to lean over the table and look at the book, “they put down their banner and formed the Templar Order, of which I used to be a part.” 

“But,” Cassandra sighed, “the Templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what they can united under a single banner once more.”

Maraas gave a quick chuckle and shook her head, crossing her arms, “You’re going to start a holy war.” 

“We are  _ already _ at war. And  _ you _ are already involved. The mark is upon your charge. As for it being holy...that will depend on what we discover.” 

“Tama,” Abelas said as she opened the book and looked through it—the words written in the  _ shem  _ language—she did not understand anything it had written in it, “we should help them.” 

Maraas sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “We shall see where this leads us then.” 

“Thank you.” Cassandra said and held out her hand. Maraas shook it tightly. 

**************

Solas tried to even his breathing to connect to the Fade. It wasn’t working since Falon’Din hovered behind him, looking and waiting for him to speak. He finally did, standing up and turning to look at his elder brother. Falon’Din simply tilted his head at Solas. 

“What?” Solas snapped. 

“So rude,” Falon’Din cooed, “and after I came all this way to visit you.” 

Solas sighed and rubbed at his head, “Just tell me what you want, please.” 

“You saw her power today.” he said after a moment, “You  _ felt _ the power. Be honest, little brother, what do you think of my conduit?” 

“She’s going to be the end of the world.” Solas said simply, “Or, if she is smarter than  _ you  _ and doesn’t follow in your footsteps, she just might save it. But only time will tell.” 

Falon’Din just laughed, “Time? You have plenty of that.” 

“You did too. Once.” 

“Until you killed me.” Falon’Din hissed at him and the shadows in the room grew darker and the lights of the candles flickered. 

Solas glared at him, “For a good reason!” 

“Enlighten me.” Falon’Din said darkly. 

“All those you killed! All those who  _ loved  _ you! Their deaths were  _ pointless!”  _ Solas yelled at him, his hands clenching into fists. Falon’Din just looked at him. The shadow calmed and the lights got brighter. 

“That’s the point.”

“What?” Solas asked, truly confused. 

“Death is pointless. That is the point. If you live forever, you grow to become arrogant and power hungry. You go crazy. Death is  _ suppose  _ to appear pointless, Fen’harel. Otherwise, people might end up like me and you.” Falon’Din shook his head, “Sleep well, little brother.” 

With that he was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:   
> Ebasit=It is  
> imekari=child  
> kata=end/death  
> PARSHAARA=enough


	4. The Lions Den

Cullen had seen children all of his life. They were loud and ran around, screaming and playing. The wandered around in groups, playing at games of imagination with sticks and spare cloth and their own little world taking shape around them. He had seen them in the village across the lake from the Circle of Magi, he had seen them in Kirkwall, he had seen them growing up. He had been  _ one _ for Maker's sake. Abelas was not like a normal child. Aside from the fact that she was now “The Herald of Andraste” and so many had come to Haven to see her, she was not a normal child. 

Most of those who came to see her did not know her when they passed her. But Cullen wouldn’t blame them. She was very soft and silent. She would sit and watch, her eyes tracking everything, but her mouth didn’t move. She did not ask many questions. She did not ask for anything. She would, every morning without fail, come out to the training grounds, put her little body folded tightly onto crate that was being used as his desk for the moment, watching them. 

Maraas was training with Cassandra. Well, next to her. Both women seemed to bond over the fact that they were warriors and that their own moral rules were iron clad and would not be bent or broken. Abelas just watched. Damen and Orta helped his “troops” train. They were nothing but young and eager men and women who had come to aid the Herald in her quest to save the world. Few under his command were true soldiers. 

Even fewer were Templar true. They had also left the Order and had come to Haven to serve. Abelas, Cullen noted, didn’t seem to know how to respond to her newfound demi-god status. Some did it out of fear, not for true being believers in her power, mostly the nobles. But the Templars, they did it with true gusto and affection. They had been seeking redemption for their past actions, and a little girl who didn’t seem to judge was a boon onto their souls and heavy hearts. But Abelas was not a normal child. 

She stayed to herself and didn’t run around. She didn’t ask for anything or demand for attention. She was a mild child. She bore unwanted attention well enough, for a six year old. Even meeting Josephine she had been a polite and smiled at her. Josephine had come to Haven a few days after Roderick and his lackeys had slunk away. She had come with a skilled tailor and a cloud of womanly perfume. 

She had bowed to Damen, shook the hand of Orta, given Maraas a salute worthy of any soldier, and Abelas had been given a bone crushing hug hidden in golden silk and then given a very pretty new outfit. Instead of cheap wool and cotton she was dressed in thick and fashionable wool with sturdy but warm pants. She had taken the shoes with a smile, red and soft, but she had only worn them when she had to meet the pilgrims who came to see her. Cullen had thought that  _ Maraas _ was a force of nature while taking care of Abelas. Josephine was  _ worse _ . Every ill spoken word was taken note of and their life was made very hard, very quickly. Cullen had a feeling that Leliana was also a part this little system. 

Those who came—or at the very least the vast majority—came to see her, the Herald, and they believed in her and her power. Others, not so much. Which is why, when the Orlesian with a large nose, came to Haven and paid not even one kind word to any of them and went straight for Josephine's office, Cullen narrowed his eyes at him and his right hand, Jim—a former Templar now a runner and bodyguard for Cullen—followed the man with his eyes as well. Abelas was walking down the steps leading into Haven and passed by him, earning her a sneering, “Knife-ear!” by him as he did caused the girl to stop and look at him as they passed on the stairs. Abelas had taken to speaking to Varric. He told her stories for hours and she enjoyed them. When Varric would shoo her away so he could “work” with his friends from out of town, she would come to watch them train. Her little face fell and she looked down at her feet, reaching up and running her fingers over her ears. 

Jim clicked his teeth together when he hissed out, “Bloody bastard.”

Abelas came to her normal spot and still played with her ears. Cullen would take many things. A child second guessing themselves was  _ NOT _ one of them. He marched over to the crate, and acted as though he was looking for documents. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She kept trying to push the sharp tip down. He stood tall and rested his hands on the top of his sword. She noticed him then and she put her hands under her thighs. She smiled up at him. He smiled back.

“How are you, Abelas?” he asked. 

“I’m fine. How are you today, Mister Cullen?” 

Cullen gave a heavy sigh, “Not well.” 

She seemed to go from a small child to a small warrior as her face dropped into anger, “Did someone say something to you? I can tell Miss Josephine. She makes sure people don’t be mean to each other. She likes it when I visit her.” 

“I’m fine. It’s rather silly.” he said with a very overly dramatic sigh. 

“Silly?” 

Cullen pointed to his ears, “My ears are too fat.” 

Abelas looked at them for a moment and then at him, her face confused, “Fat?” 

“Yes. I rather like your ears though. Normal in every way.” 

She shook her head, “No. They look like a knife. People say so.” 

“My ears look like a decaying squash.” Cullen chuckled. 

She looked at his ears once more, “No. They look like human ears. Round.” 

“Well thank you. Your ears look like elvhen ears. Pointy.” 

A runner that had been placed under Josephine came to them then, panting for breath. They waited as he caught his breath and then he gave a short bow to Cullen but then a deep bow worthy of being in front of royalty to Abelas. She gave a low bow of her head and pushed herself to the ground. The runner said that they were needed in the Chantry as soon as they were able. Some urgent matter. As they made their way to the Chantry she took his larger hand in her smaller one, holding onto it. He looked down at her and she didn’t even look at him. 

As though it was the most natural thing in the world. 

They walked the short way to the Chantry. As they went into the war room, they entered a war zone. Orta and Cassandra were snapping at each other, the table keeping them from killing each other. Maraas was shaking her head, speaking in harsh but firm tones to Leliana, and Damen and Josephine were watching the scene in front of them with looks of boredom and resentment at the actions their friends were displaying. Cullen shut the door as Abelas went to Maraas and hugged her leg tightly. As the door clicked shut the words were cut off from all of them, who had turned to look at him. 

“What has happened?” Cullen asked as he came to stand by the table. 

“My child will be  _ killed _ before the month is out.” Maraas growled out. 

Orta crossed her arms and gave him a scowl, “That fat fop who came to visit came with a shite ton to say but little to give in the way of good news. Looks like those arsehole in the capital don’t believe that the kid did shite to help them. Like almost dying  _ twice _ is some small feat!” 

Damen nodded his head, and then looked at Cullen right in the eye, “The Chantry officials in Val Royeaux  _ demand _ that she come to the Orlesian capital to be judged. They want  _ proof _ that she is who the people claim her to be. The Herald of Andraste.” 

“The people,” Leliana said stiffly, “have a right to their opinion but the Chantry can still pull their power over them at anytime. If we ignore this we will be called much worse than heretics for hoarding the girl.” 

“Her  _ name _ is Abelas Lavellan.” Maraas snapped. 

“Leliana dosen’t mean to be rude,” Cassandra said as she rubbed at the bridge of her nose, “but she and I were the left and right hands of the Divine.” 

“Who is dead.” Orta snapped. Cassandra whipped her head around and gave Orta a glare which Orta returned. 

“We know how the Chantry works.” Cassandra continued as she looked back at Maraas. 

“So we are alone then?” Damen asked. 

“No.” Leliana chuckled, “We are  _ not _ .” 

“So we do have friends?” Orta snorted out and moved to hug Abelas close to her chest, and then pulled to tuck the little girl under her arm, “Who should we be expecting? Mages or Templars? Or more Seekers like Lady Dragon Rider over there?” 

“I did  _ not _ ride a dragon! That story is full of pomp that didn’t happen!” Cassandra snapped as she threw up her hands. 

“You rode a dragon?” Abelas asked with awe as she looked at Cassandra. Cassandra looked at her and then blushed at the bright gaze that Abelas was giving her. 

“We do have friends,” Josephine said and they all looked at her, “but until we gain more favor with people—who outnumber the power of Chantry by sheer  _ number  _ alone—the rebel Mages  _ nor _ the Templar order will even  _ speak _ to us. This also means that if they send anyone for Lady Lavellan we will not be lying when we tell them that she is not here.”

“How do we gain this favor then?” Maraas asked with a sigh. 

“We must speak with Mother Giselle.” Leliana said with the crossing of her arms behind her back and a smirk on her face. 

“How many kids does she have?” Abelas asked.

“She is a mother of the  _ Chantry _ .” Orta sighed. Damen picked under his nails, cleaning them with a hyperaware care that Cullen had seen only nobles employ. Damen had been a noble but he wasn’t one anymore, from the state of his dress down to his hair screamed that. A bad habit then. Better than Cullens habit at the very least. 

“Why would we go to her for help? If she is with the Chantry then she might very well send us away instead of help us do  _ anything _ .” Maraas said with a raise eyebrow.

“She is in the middle of the Hinterlands at the moment. She is at the heart of the Mage and Templar war and she stays to help those who are caught in the middle of a fight that most do not want to have a stake in.” Leliana explained. 

_ Fools. Someone is always caught in the middle of a war they have no stake in. It is the reason battlefields are the best place to raise the dead.  _ The ghostly voice was again speaking to her and Abelas looked around, trying to find where it was coming from. Maybe she was going crazy. She really hoped not. She felt a slight pinch behind her eyes and she rubbed at them to make the sudden pain go away. 

Abelas wiped under her nose as it began to bleed. Maraas saw this and quickly scooped the girl up, fishing a neat little square of white from her pocket to soak up the blood. She titled the smaller head back and then Abelas grabbed the handkerchief to hold it to her nose all on her own. She had been getting them without fail for no reason ever since she had awoken from sealing The Breach. Damen sighed and Cassandra cast him a look. 

“You have something you wish to add?” Cassandra asked him. Damen looked at her and then at Abelas before turning to look at Cassandra once more. 

He spoke with his head held high and his hands shaking, “Abelas is a  _ child _ . This war might very well  _ kill _ her if we take her with us. But if we  _ don’t _ , then someone might come and take her away just so they can kill her  _ anyway _ . We need allies? For what reason and purpose? All of this has happened and yet we don’t  _ know _ anything about who killed the Divine, or who put that mark of power on Abelas, or even  _ who _ might want to be on our side! We are playing a game of chicken with a power we have no  _ idea _ how to defeat.  **Worse** yet,” he said as he pointed to Abelas, “all of you claim her be the Herald for a God she  _ doesn’t _ believe in! Has she not  _ suffered _ enough already that you would all place a child in the face of danger to avenge a woman who was well into her twilight years?” 

Leliana and Cassandra both ducked their heads and would not meet his eyes. Orta gave a low whistle in show of her approval. Cullen looked at Abelas. Her eyes seemed very glassy. 

“Abelas?” he asked her softly. She turned her head slowly to look at him, the blood soaked cloth in her tiny, tan hands. She wasn’t looking at him, she was seeing something else. Maraas placed her hand on the smooth forehead. Cullen watched her face closely as he spoke, “Abelas, do you have an opinion on this? Anything at all?” 

She blinked very slowly, as though she was trying to make herself do everything, She looked at him and then down at the mark on her hand. It was painful to see each movement done in slow but fluid movements. She turned her hand this way and that, looking at it and then she smiled. It was an odd thing, to see a smile so cruel on a face so soft and young. She looked back at him and showed him the mark, glowing softly even in the light of the room. He watched in horror as it seemed to pulse and grow darker and darker, a black light that chilled the room until he could see his breath. 

Maraas gave her a quick shake and she took a large gasp as though waking from a dream or catching her breath after being underwater for too long. The light faded and the room warmed. Abelas looked all around her and seemed very confused on where and who she was at the moment. Maraas took her from the room quickly and came back a few moments later, her expression tight. 

“Solas is tending to her.” she said as she entered the room, “But we have to have a plan. If we go to see this mother what will happen?” 

“Best case? She will be able to vouch for Lavellan before we attempt to clear her name in Orlais. She would most likely be our voice in the Chantry since Leliana and I are no longer considered the hands of the Divine.” Cassandra clarified to Maraas with a similar tight expression on her face. . 

“What’d the kid say?” Orta asked as Maraas seemed to think over her options for a moment. Those grey eyes looked at the dwarf for only a moment and then she shook her head before turning to Leliana and speaking in a clear and commanding voice. 

“Scout ahead, Sister. I will not walk into a land I know little about to speak to a woman who is married to a religion I did not recognize as my own.”  

With that the matter was dropped and everyone went about their usual day-to-day operations. Cullen caught Maraas outside of the small hut she and Lavellan had been given. He could hear Solas and the child inside speaking softly in elvhen to each other. Maraas just looked at him for a moment and he pulled her a little ways away from the door and into a shaded part on the side of the hut, hidden from eyes that could see them. 

“I know Orta asked and you chose not to answer, but what  _ did _ she say?” he asked her, concern peppering his voice. She liked to click her nails together while she thought, Cullen had noticed. The pointed finger dragging down and out on the thumb. The clicking noise itself was almost lost to the wind. It was the only hint she ever gave away about how she was feeling. She gave a sigh before crossing her arms and leaning against the side of the hut; Cullen waited as the wind blew snow down around them. 

“She was very confused when we were walking to go and see Solas. She asked me if we had made a choice yet. She didn’t seem to know that she wasn’t aware of her own actions. I asked her about it and she looked at me for a moment and then said, “I was talking to my friends.” I do not wish to meet these  _ friends _ if they make her forget so much.” 

“Demons?” 

Maraas chuckled at this, “You have been scarred for life by them, Cullen Rutherford. But these friends are no demons. Demons tear and choke their host, twist their bodies into something  _ horrid _ . These  _ friends _ ...they are not demons. I fear they are something much, much  _ worse _ .” Cullen wondered to himself what was worse than demons? His mind went back the mark on the small hand in the room behind them, the black light it had radiated out at them, and the cold feeling of dread that had swamped the room. 

Yes, that was worse than demons. 

As night fell and they climbed into warm beds or sat near cozy fires, Orta went to pay a mage a visit. Solas didn’t seem to be worried when she let herself in and sat down across from him in front of the fire of the hut he had been given. 

“Maraas said that you looked over the kid. Told her not to worry.” 

Solas only nodded his head and folded his hands over each other, “I checked the mark. It is not something to be  _ overly _ worried about.” 

Orta narrowed her eyes at him and then spied a chess board on a back table. She jerked her chin towards it, “You play?” 

Solas turned to see what she had pointed to and then turned back to her to answer, “A little. Would you like to play a round?” 

Orta got up from her chair and went to grab the board from the back table, “Sure. But let’s make it interesting.” 

“Oh?” 

“We each tell the truth where it concerns the kid when we lose a piece. No bullshitting each other.” she said as she sat back down with the board in her hands. She placed it on the low table that sat between them. Solas seemed to look through her for a moment, eyes cold and far away before he blinked and agreed. Orta gave a subtle shake of her head, maybe she had seen something that wasn’t there. No elf had eyes like a dead things.

_ Abelas does, _ some traitorous part of her mind whispered. Abelas did, but only sometimes. Only sometimes did Orta catch the kid looking at her and the eyes that gazed back were hollow. Like no soul had ever lived inside of the tiny body those eyes existed in. Like she was some kind of ghost that was still solid. Ever since the kid had gotten that stupid mark on her hand she had been different in all the wrong ways.  No one did; only the dead had dead eyes in their skulls.

She took black and he took white. He looked over the board for a moment and then grabbed the pawn in front of his left knight and moved it two spaces. She took her pawn in front of her king and moved it a space. Solas moved the pawn in front of his bishop one space and she moved her queen to check him. He smirked and moved the pawn in front of his right knight to block the check. She took the queen to kill his first pawn. He looked over the board in silence for a long time before speaking. 

“The mark is  _ aware _ even when she is not. As she sleeps it learns about the world around her—and out of fear—cloaks her in a protective magic that has not been seen since the elvhen people were once immortal. I fear that what left the mark on her hand is a relic of a bygone age that had been filled with  _ experimental _ magic.” 

“That’s fucking creepy.” Orta said waspishly. 

Solas only gave a low hum and looked back at the board. He moved his bishop out to the same line as his two pawns. Orta moved her left knight past her row of pawns that sat in front of it. Solas drummed his fingers on his chair before moving his next piece. He moved the pawn in front of his left bishop one space. A killing space for the queen. Orta could kill it but she thought about it. The other knight was still there, in its original space. It could kill her queen if she killed the pawn. She moved the queen back one space. He moved his bishop in front of his knight and she killed it with her queen. He smirked at her. She wondered if he was playing her. 

“I have wondered, if her mark  _ was _ placed there by a relic of old, then where did the relic come from? Blood mages? Is it Dwarven? Perhaps the Qunari? Or  **worse** , her own people? I have asked her what these  _ friends _ say and they speak to her in elvhen. She has tried to get them to speak to her in common but they have told her that they will not sully their mouths with human words.” 

Orta glared at him, “What are these  _ friends _ ?” 

“Get another piece and find out.” he said and moved his second pawn up one space. She took his castle with a annoyed smack of piece on the board and she took it with a flick of her wrist. 

“Talk.” 

“They use no names. Only flashing images and half remembered songs when they do not speak to her. But they are aware that she is a child. They understand that she is not powerful. She says that they are humbled and  _ grateful _ for this. But I doubt it. Beings of power are never made  _ grateful _ nor  _ humble _ when placed in a body with no power.” he moved the pawn that had once been next to the second one and moved it up one space. She took the pawn above her queen and he gave a sly nod of his head, “You are good at this game, Miss Cadash.” 

“And guys like you know how to bullshit people real well. What  _ aren’t _ you telling me?” 

“I am telling you all I have learned while looking at the mark and speaking to Abelas.” 

“In a language none of us know.” 

Solas looked at her with a cold anger in his eyes that sent a shiver up her spine. He leaned forward to look into her eyes, “Her mother tongue which makes her  _ happy _ . She was worried that she would forget it as long as she stayed with all of  _ you _ . But she said that if she had to make a choice of her language or her  _ family _ she would pick all of you.” 

He went back to leaning in his seat and moved his knight to be in the same row as his bishop. She swallowed around the dry patch in her throat and looked at the board. She moved her right knight past the wall of pawns. He placed his finger on top of the kings head and gave it a light push. The king fell and he spread his hands with a light, “I surrender.” She glared at him and got up from her seat. He called out as she opened the door, “Ask her about her people, her  _ gods _ ,  _ the monsters of myth. _ You might not like what you find.” 

She made sure to slam the door on the way out. While Orta had been trying to get information from Solas, Maraas had been looking over the map of the Hinterlands. The land was vast and covered in thick forest and steep hills. Leliana had sent out her troops and so far they had sent basic information back. The mother was safe for the moment. But the signs of demons worried her the most. What if a rift was in the Hinterlands that had not yet been seen by the scouts? She placed the letters that Leliana had handed her down in her lap and rubbed her face. 

Next to her on the bed, Abelas was curled into her hip, her little arm thrown over her thighs. She didn’t want to take her child with her to a place that was choked by war. She had seen what war did to children. She put the letters on the desk side table and blew out the candle. She made sure to keep one hand on Abelas and the other resting in her lap. The beds here were too small for her, so she had to sleep sitting up. When dawn came she made sure to leave detailed notes with Josephine on the care of her child. 

Cassandra had volunteered to come with them to the Hinterlands. Solas and Varric had also agreed to come. But with Orta and Damen tagging along they wouldn’t need to come. As they ate the morning fast Orta looked at Abelas a few times and then scoffed. Abelas looked at her at this sound so loud in the sleepy moments of early fast. Orta pointed to Abelas with her spoon. 

“I have a question for you, kid.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“A scary story.” Orta said as she stabbed at her morning porridge. Cassandra looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. Solas drank his tea and Varric was taking notes. Maraas cut her eggs to place them onto her toast and eat. Abelas looked at Orta for a moment and then she blinked harshly as though she had never heard of such a thing. 

“A what?” 

“A scary story. Tell me a few.” 

Abelas shook her shook, “ _ No _ . Those stories won’t mean anything to you. They won’t teach you anything. It’s a  _ story _ to you. But it's  _ not _ a story to me or my people.” 

Orta had nothing to say to this. The company left at mid-day. Abelas and Cullen followed them to the end of the road leading to Haven. Abelas waved goodbye until they went over a ridge and were gone from her sight. Cullen lead her back to Haven to hide from the anyone looking to take her to Orlias. While the company was gone, Abelas was told stories by Varric, played chess with Solas, followed Cullen as he went about his day of training his troops. Leliana let her feed the birds and Josephine hired a tutor to help her with her academics. 

But while she was safe within the walls of Havn and kept far from those who wished her harm, the company had their own hardships. The company set out with good speed at first; but soon their way became steep and difficult. The twisting and climbing road had in many places almost disappeared, and was blocked with many fallen stones or trees. They walked as fast as they could, and rested for brief moments. The day waned and the twilight faded as the dark crept upon them. The night grew deadly dark under great clouds. A bitter wind swirled among the rocks. 

By midnight, guided by mage light provided by Damen, they had climbed to the knees of the great mountains. The narrow path now wound under a sheer wall of cliffs to the left, and on the right was a gulf of darkness where the land fell suddenly into a deep ravine, some way below them a deep well of water, clear as crystal, from which a freshnet fell over a stone lip ran glistening and gurgling down a steep rocky channel. They made camp hidden from the wind. Orta made the fire, Damen set up traps to keep them safe as they slept. Maraas and Cassandra set up the two tents quickly. They had a simple meal of dried jerky and fire roasted mushrooms. Damen and Cassandra spoke of mages and their power in Tevinter. Orta put the whetstone to her daggers and Maraas let her eyes close as she meditated before bed. 

They would soon reach the end of the mountain and be on the mainland proper once more. The Hinterlands would not be far once they reached a flatter plain. Maraas had mapped out the quickest route. It would take them only a week to get to this mother of the Chantry. Damen took first watch and Orta the second. She scared him into the dying fire when they changed shifts and he was almost set on ablaze. After he was calmed down and the others soothed from their sudden awakening, nothing further happened that night. The next morning dawned even brighter than before. 

The air was chilly again, already the wind was turning back towards the east. For two more nights they marched on, climbing and walking downhill steadily but ever more slowly as their road sputtered out from the mountains and wound up and around into the hills, and the mountain faded behind them. On the third morning, the first of many small towns leading them to the Hinterlands, rose before them. There was a black look in the sky and the sun was wan. The wind had changed and was now blowing north-east. They didn’t stay in any towns they came through. Right before the Hinterlands came a torrent of rain that made the ground mud. 

They had to hide out until it passed. Once it did, they set out once more and came to the center of Hinterlands and met a little dwarf named Harding. Orta smiled at her and tried to make a joke about the Hard in Hightown books and her last name. Harding gave her a very bored look as Orta tried to flirt. Harding went straight to business and Maraas enjoyed that. 

“We came to secure horses from Red Cliffs old quartermaster. I grew up here and everyone  _ always _ said that Dennett's herds where the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the Mage/Templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennett, Maker only knows if he’s still alive. Mother Giselle is at the crossroad, helping refugees and the wounded; our latest report says the war spread their too. Corporal Vale and his men are doing what they can to protect the people but...they won’t be able to hold it for very long. You best get going. No time to lose.” 

And thus they went down the road and ran right into a fight. The refugees ran from the spells flying threw the air and ducking under swords slicing down to end their life. Damen put up a barrier and they went to meet them head on. Cassandra crossed swords with a Templar, Orta stabbed a few Mages in the back of their necks before swishing away in a cloud of smoke and Damen shot out spells as quickly as he could twirl his staff. Maraas beat back a large Templar with each smash of her hammer into his large shield. She didn’t notice that a mage ran up behind her, fire glowing hot and bright in both palms. Maraas didn’t know. 

The fire roared out toward her exposed back. 

*************

_ Far from me is the fen of weeping. Far from me is glen of sleeping. Far from me is the field of reaping. No more watch hours shall I be keeping, when the yellow moon comes creeping. Dead Falon’Din lies dreaming, and even demons from themselves are fleeing.  _ The horrible ghostly voice was haunting her and it always laughed every time it got done with this stupid rhyme. 

It always brought her nightmares when it sang the rhyme. 

Abelas shot up in bed, breathing hard, tears on her face. She wiped them away and slipped from her bed to the cold floor. She wrapped the blanket that Maraas had given her around her small body and slipped out of her room in the Chantry and made her way to the tavern. She ducked into the warmth of the building as the door opened a few soldiers stumbled out. Solas and Varric sat in one small corner, speaking softly and playing Diamondback. She went over and sat in the only seat left. Both of them looked at her. 

Varric with mild surprise and Solas only giving her a gentle smile. Cullen entered not too long after her and saw her sitting at the table. He walked over and picked her up and she jerked in his hold. She explained that she didn’t want to go back to bed. She was afraid. Solas smiled at her and held her marked hand softly in his own. 

“How about a story?” he asked her gently . 

She only nodded her head. So Solas did as Cullen sat down with her curled in his lap. He told them—Cullen, Abelas and Varric—tales to keep their minds from fear. He knew many histories and legends of a long since passed time—of Elves and Men—and the good and evil deeds of the elder ages. They wondered how old he was and where he had learned all this lore. But Abelas soon titled and turned into Cullen and was once more asleep. When dawn came, it came with a letter from Cassandra. 

They were on their way home. 

*************

Flemeth tapped her foot on the sticky ground of the Fade. He had made of habit of making her wait. Then again, everyone waited for him. She knew he was present when she could see her breath in front of her. She looked around and saw nothing. She scowled, she hated when he played games with her. She was too old for this. 

“Falon’Din,” she said sternly, “you called me here, not the other way around. So talk.” 

She could hear him laugh and then suddenly he was right in front of her. If he had a nose his could have bumped her own. She glared at him and stood her ground. He used his shadows to move further away from her and sat himself down upon a crumbling throne that was floating near them. The Fade was full of things long since forgotten. It had once been merely a reflection of the world, and it had been beautiful. Now it was nothing but void and broken memories. 

Falon’Din crossed his legs and used his hand to hold his head, bracing his elbow on what was left of the armrest, “I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing.” 

“Liar. Tell me what you want.”

He waved his other hand loosely at the wrist, “Fair enough. I was wondering—since you  _ are _ a mother and have had a child—how to make them stop having nightmares.” 

Flemeth raised an eyebrow, “Nightmares?” 

“Yes,” Falon’Din sighed, annoyed, “Everytime I try and show her the  _ power _ she will soon be master over she awakens—screaming at the top of her lungs!—and she calls them nightmares.” 

Flemeth laughed at him, shaking her head, “She is young. And the things you did with your power gave even  _ Elgar’nan _ pause. So yes, it is normal for her to be scared of you.” 

“She  _ is  _ me,” Falon’Din hissed at her as he slammed the hand that had been holding his head onto the armrest. The throne broken apart with a loud crack and he was gone once more in the shadows. Flemeth only gave a small start when she felt him wrap his hands around her throat from behind, “and she was born for a great purpose.” 

“She was born,” Flemeth said softly and removed his hands from her person before turning around and looking at him, “to replace you. That is what the first conduit does, take your power and turn it into their own. The next conduit of their choosing replaces you.” 

“She is the first.” 

Flemeth let out a snorting scoff and gave him a very amused look, “Falon’Din you are  _ still _ as short shorted as ever. Her  _ mother _ was the first conduit. She will  _ replace _ you once she had learned all of your tricks.” 

“Liar.” he hissed at her as he grabbed her by the throat, “You speak falsehoods, woman!” 

“Ask Solas.” she chuckled and kicked him in the stomach. He dropped her to the ground where she landed on her feet. 

Falon’Din shook his head, “This isn’t...how?” 

“Her mother died.” Flemeth said with a shrug of her shoulder, “That tends to happen to people. Either way you look at this, Falon’Din. That child is  _ afraid _ of you, and if given even  _ half  _ the chance she will seal all of your power away inside of her soul and she will become the God of Death.” 

Falon’Din looked at for her a long moment and then that hideous smile cracked his face open, “Then I suppose I shall have to make her understand that I am her friend. And I don’t  _ want  _ to be sealed away forever.” 

“And  _ how _ ,” Flemeth sighed heavily, “do you plan to do that?” 

Falon’Din walked past her, “By making friends.” 

**********

When Abelas woke in the early hours of the morning she was told about the returning party and she was happy. Or as happy as she let her face show. She spent most of the morning learning with her tutor and greeting the pilgrims. Varric told her funny stories as they ate lunch. She was left to her own devices for the afternoon and she went to sit on the steps leading into Haven. She sat down upon the stone and cupped her chin in her hands, staring eastwards but seeing little with her eyes. All that had happened since she had been found at the Conclave was passing through her mind, and she recalled and pondered everything that she could of Maraas, Orta, and Damen. 

_ Would you like to hear a more pleasing rhyme?  _

Abelas looked around, her head jerking around, “H-hello?” 

_ You can speak in your head dear, I can hear you.  _

“Who are you?” 

_ A friend. I realize now that my attempts at contact have been making you have nightmares. I apologize. It has been a long time since I was able to talk to anyone.  _

Abelas nibbles at her lips, “I know what that feels like. It’s...lonely.” 

_ Yes. So I would like to start over. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Falon.  _

“My name is Abelas.” she said softly and curled into herself, bring her legs up to hide her mouth so no one could see her talking to no one. 

_ Would you like a pleasing rhyme this time? Instead of the one about Falon’Din? _

Abelas looked around, “What other ones do you know?” 

_ The Dragon and The Mermaid, The Betrayal, The Fade, The Lament for Home, and The Lovers Requiem. All of these are very old, I’m afraid, and no one has heard them for ages.  _

“Are they happy?” 

_ In a way. The Dragon and The Mermaid is self explanatory. The Betrayal is about Fen’harel and what he did. The Fade is about how is used to be before it became a demon infested nightmare. The Lament for Home is just that; wishing to be home. The Lovers Requiem is sad though, and has no happy ending.  _

Abelas played with the ends of her pants, “Can I hear about the dragon and the mermaid?” 

_ Of course!  _ The voice sounded so happy at her suggestion to hear it's rhyme. Maybe it had been lonely, with nobody to talk to,  _ In mountain caves the bat-winged worm, thousand ages old, with furnace breath and jeweled hide lies coiled around its gold. While on the oceans gleaming foam a giant shell unfurls. Behold! A mermaid sleeps within, more marvelous than pearls.  _

As the voice spoke she could  _ see  _ what it was talking about. She could see the dragon sleeping under a pile of gold. She could see its sharp teeth and leathery wings. She saw the ocean in all of its glory and the giant shell on pink and white that seemed to erupt from it. The mermaid had hair of sea foam green and skin was blue as lake water. Her eyes were black and large and her smile was full of needle like teeth. She was a wonder to behold. 

Suddenly she awoke from her thoughts: a strange feeling came to her that  _ something _ was behind her, that unfriendly eyes were upon her. Like the eyes of a wolf when she had seen them from beyond the fire and circle of the Clan. Wolves were not stupid. They knew that they could kill all manner of fleshy things. But not in a mob, no, but a weak and unaware person? Wolves could wait. And she was alone; an easy target. 

She sprang up and turned; but all that she saw—to her surprise—was Solas, and his face was smiling and kind. He offered a game of chess, since the company wouldn’t be back for another week at least. She nodded her head and asked if they could play in the sun near the lake. Solas nodded his head and said he would meet her there. She dusted snow off the stump she had used as a seat. Solas came with a folded chess board and she had asked a Templar to help her move two crates to be seats. Cullen waved to her as she thanked the Templar. 

She waved back and Solas taught her to play chess properly since—he confessed—he had been letting her win the whole time. Maraas and the company had only spent the night and learned about the horrors in the Hinterlands. People had no food, no protection, no blankets or spare clothing. Worse yet, demons had been seen everywhere in the woods and a  _ dragon _ was reeking havoc near the edge of the Hinterlands, out past a small rocky cropping. Abelas would have to come to seal the rifts. Maraas was not happy about this information but she knew that her child was the only one who could. The day they were due to leave came like smoke and fire. 

Low in the east there were black clouds like the fumes of a great burning. The rising sun lit them from beneath with flames of murky red; but it soon climbed above them into the clear sky. The dragon was running amok. The summit of the Frostbacks was tipped with gold in the distance. Cassandra brought up the fact that they had to speak to Corporal Vale before they left to get Abelas. Damen also pointed out that before they left for Val Royeaux, Abelas should seal a few rifts, and that they should help the refugees. 

It would cause those in power to doubt. Maraas agreed. Cassandra led them to the right arm of the road to where they would set up their first camp in the Hinterlands. Here upon its western side under the shadow on a steep cliff on the other side of the lake where a green lawn ran down to the water from the feet of some distant water source. Behind the lake rose the first gentle slopes of the hill clad with trees and the trees marched away westward along the curving stone of the cliff. A little spring fell tumbling down and fed the grass. Vale told them about the mages and their camps and the fact that they were hiding inside of Red Cliff village. 

The Templars had taken up old forts and ruins to use as bases. The Hinterlands had too much going on all at once. After all the information could be squeezed out of everyone they left for Haven. Cassandra and Orta talked of—all things—religion. Damen had moved to stand next to Maraas. Worried that he might get hit. They didn’t argue much and in fact they seemed to smooth over the ruffled feathers that they had given each other. 

The trip back seemed faster than the trip going. As they came to the road that was the last two miles to Haven, Maraas saw Abelas atop a bent-backed horse with a long face. Cullen held the reins as he lead. Abelas was clinging to the old mare with all she had. As she saw Maraas she cried out, “Tama! You’re back!” 

Cullen looked up from the report he was reading and waved with his hand holding the papers at them. They meet in the middle of the road. Abelas reached for Maraas and Maraas placed her on her shoulders. Abelas held onto her horns and giggled. 

“Tama,” she said, “look! Cullen is teaching me how to ride a horse!” 

“ _ That’s _ a horse?” Orta snickered. 

Maraas looked at Cullen who looked bashful as he said, “She was so excited to see you again. She kept trying to leave to go down the road. I figured that she needed to know how to ride and  _ this _ was a good excuse as any for her to be out and about.” 

Cassandra gave him a look with a raised eyebrow, “I’m surprised at you, Commander. I didn’t know you knew how to ride a horse, let alone teach someone else how to.” 

Cullen shot her a look, “I was born as a dog-lord, Lady Seeker. If I didn’t know how to ride a horse I could pass for an Orlesian.” 

“That’s not something to be proud of, Commander Cullen.” Damen said with a smirk on his face. Cullen chuckled as did Cassandra and Orta. Maraas took the reins from Cullen and put Abelas back on and turned the horse to go back to Haven. Cassandra and Cullen spoke of the Hinterlands and the problems facing it. At the mention of the rifts, Abelas perked up and turned to speak to Cassandra. 

“Like how we saw when we went to seal to The Breach?” 

“Yes.” Cassandra said softly, “It seems that your effort put into sealing The Breach stopped the sky from swallowing the world, but it was open long enough to spread rifts in the surrounding lands. We will have to be vigilant while we restore order.” 

“Demons are hurting people?” Abelas asked, her brow furrowed. 

Maraas answered her, “Not yet. The Mage/Templar war seems to be keeping them at bay for the moment. For now, we will help the refugees for a small amount of time before we go to Orlais.” 

“Damen and I can run recon, leave before you guys and keep our ears to the ground to see if anything might go wrong.” Orta said. Maraas shook her head. 

“Why not?” Damen asked her. 

Maraas looked at them over her shoulder, “They might know who and what we look like. Better to go together in a group then split up and be taken by surprise in a city that it trying to kill one of us. For now, we should focus on the Hinterlands, and then worry about the Chantry.” 

In Haven they ironed out the new plans in regards to the Hinterlands. Cassandra and Maraas argued for three days over how long they would stay in the Hinterlands before making a beeline straight for Orlais. The refugees needed help—of this they agreed—but as far as the rifts were concerned, Maraas didn’t want Abelas to strain herself. The fact that the Mage/Templar war was in full effect was also making her angry. Damen was at risk for being a mage and Abelas would attract the demons because of her mark. 

Cassandra shook her head, “It can’t be properly called a  _ war _ any longer. It’s a free for all, mages against templars against everyone.” 

“Mages and Templars and innocent people caught in the middle.” Varric sighed, “Some things never change.” 

“Which is why we should not spend so much time in Hinterlands with a child following us. War finds those who are innocent and rips them from this mortal coil without any remorse and often times with very little reason.” Maraas snapped. 

_ Look at the map, girl. Learn the lay of the land so that if the worse comes to pass, you know how to get away.  _

Abelas tried to stand on her toes to see and saw nothing but lines. She frowned at the map and then had an idea. Cullen was next to her but was listening to Maraas and Cassandra. He was tall enough to see the map and reach it without tearing it from the table. His cloak hung heavy and warm on him. She touched it. It was very soft. 

Cullen felt a sharp tug on his cloak and he looked down. Abelas couldn’t see the map. He pulled it from the table and handed it to her so she could see what everyone else was talking about. Abelas looked down at the Hinterland map. The area was circled, with the rivers running blue through it and an ‘x’ to show where camps had been set up once before but where now left for anyone to use.  _ Anyone _ being the Inquisition. She looked at the map for a long time as the others argued around her. 

Orta brought up the fact that the horse master was somewhere in the Hinterlands during all of this. Damen and Cullen both brought up the fact that the mages and the templars had bases and would retreat to them if any Inquisition soldiers went after them. Maraas and Cassandra both agreed—after a time—that the bases could wait. The rifts and the refugees could  _ not _ . 

The voice chuckled,  _ Ah, the Sea of Ash. My fondest memory is there.   _

“What’s in the Sea of Ash?” Abelas asked as she held up the map. Solas answered before anyone else could. 

“The Sea of Ash is all that remains of a long since dead kingdom. Even the elves left it to rot when they found the city.” 

“What city?” Orta asked with a narrowed glare. 

“The city of the forgotten ones.” he answered. 

Abelas twisted her fingers over each other, “I know that story. It was the city where The Pantheon and The Forgotten Ones had their last feud before The Great Betrayal took place. In the story, Elgar’nan—the All-Father—and Anaris—the Matriarch—met on the field of battle and fought for seven hundred years. Both were too tired to continue the fight and called instead for aid. Fen’harel—who had watched the battle—came to them and they both were brought to anger over this, for he had been cast out from both of them by this point. When they asked him why he hadn’t helped he told them that it took seven hundred years for them to try and kill each other, but he had killed a whole civilization in seven seconds while they yelled at him. As they raced to save their people Fen’harel slipped away and the city was destroyed along with its people. Forever frozen as salt statues. I didn’t know that was what the Sea of Ash was though.” 

_ Fen’harel was a child when this happened. He didn’t know the spell he had stolen from Falon’Din could kill like it had. The whole of the Pantheon was angry with him, but not Falon’Din. The God of Death was pleased that his little brother had done his job for him.  _ The voice informed her. Abelas licked at her lips. 

“ _ Wait _ , hold up.” Orta said as she raised her hands, “You mean to tell me that  _ one _ guy turned a whole massive  _ city _ into salt?” 

Abelas nodded her head, “That’s what the Keeper told us. It’s the reason why Fen’harel is so feared by my people.” 

“Then  **_why_ ** keep building statues and shite of him?!” Orta asked with exasperation. 

“He’s all we have left.” Abelas answered sadly. No one had anything to say to that. What could they say? Abelas was given to Josephine for the rest of the day as they continued to argue. All of them set out a little over a week after the company returned. Maraas and Cassandra took point while Damen and Solas brought up the rear. 

Orta followed along the side and Varric kept Abelas company in the middle. He told her stories of a sea captain who freed slaves because she was trying to make up for the bad things she had done in her life. He told her stories about a mage who loved cats and loved people but who made a bad choice and it caused a war. Even told her about an elf who glowed and who fell in love with a great hero named after a bird of prey. Cassandra shot him a dirty look for that story but he paid it no heed. She listened to him with rapt attention, her cloak pulled close to her body to fight the cold. She liked the stories very much. 

It kept the voices at bay in her head. They came like a sweet summer breeze and stayed in her bones. She was not afraid of them, but she did not want them either. As they made camp, Varric and Orta made jokes and talked about the books that Varric had written. Maraas kept Abelas close to her as the camped a mile off of the road in the frosty woods. Damen and Solas had cleared away the snow and made the ground warm so they could set up camp for the night. Cassandra cleaned and oiled her armor inside of her tent. 

Solas was sleeping without sleeping, his eyes at half-mast, breathing even. As they all settled in for sleep Abelas lay awake for some time, and looked up at the roof of the tent before slipping free from the gentle grip of Maraas and going outside to gaze up at the stars glinting through the pale roof of quivering leaves. Damen was snoring from his tent. She could dimly see the grey forms of two elves sitting motionless with their arms about their knees, speaking in whispers. She shook her head and wiped at her eyes. Phantoms? She took a step toward them and a hand came down on her shoulder.

She whipped around and Solas looked down at her, one brow raised a dim light glowing in his hand. She ducked her head and went back to her tent. She looked over her shoulder as she did. There was no one where the two elves had been sitting. It took her a very long time to fall asleep. Late in the night she woke with a tiny gasp, eyes darting around. Everyone else was asleep, she could hear their breathing. 

The others were back. The sickle moon was gleaming dimly among them, but it was bright enough to cast the tent into semi-light. The shadow fell over her and Maraas and Abelas snapped her eyes closed. She felt a light touch of fingernails run over her cheek and then along the outer rim of her ear. She could feel a hand gripping her marked one in a tight grip that hurt, the bones inside rubbing together as the hand squeezed. Just as quickly as they had come they were once more gone. She didn’t tell anyone about what happened when the dawn came. 

Once they reached the crossroads and came to their second camp, Abelas was allowed to take a nap as the other restocked and relearned any new information. It was a long two months in the Hinterlands. The refugees were helped. Several camps were set up. The carta was discovered but could be left to their own devices for the moment. Three rifts were shut as well. Abelas was very tired after each one and Maraas wouldn’t let her do anymore. 

Once every mage and Templar base was shut down—something none of them had planned for but when you stumble headlong into one, well, what else could you do?—they headed out for Orlais. On the road they saw too many Chantry loyal Templars on the road. At one point so many had camped out on a road—the only road—to the capital that they ducked down into the woods and found an old mill to hide in. All that day the company remained in hiding. The mill had holes in the roof and mold on the walls. They could hear the Templars, their voices floating clear and loud to them. Dark birds passed over now and again; but as the westering sun grew red they disappeared southwards, when the voices died down and came back out on the road. 

At dusk the company set out, turning now half east they marched on to the grand Chantry in Orlais, which from far away glowed golden faintly in the last light of the vanished sun. One by one the stars sprang forth as the sky faded. Guided by Cassandra they struck a good path. Val Royeaux was a shimmering city of gold, silver, and lions. Abelas had never  _ seen _ so many lions. She turned as she walked, gazing at the alabaster statues along the bridge into the city. Bells could be heard ringing. 

“The city still mourns.” Cassandra sighed.  As they passed a few people a woman gave a shriek and ran from them. Varric chuckled. 

“Looks like  _ everyone _ knows who we are, Seeker.” 

Cassandra answered him with an annoyed tone, “Your powers of observation never fail to impress me,  _ Varric _ .” As they passed the iron gate a woman in their colors came to them and got down on one knee in front of Abelas, who stopped in her tracks. 

“My lady Herald.” the woman said softly and bowed her head. 

Cassandra recognized the woman, “You’re one of Leliana's people.” 

The woman wasted no time speaking, “The Chantry Mothers await you, but so do a great many Templars.” 

“There are Templars here?” Cassandra asked, her face betraying her shock. 

“The people think that the Templars will  _ protect _ them...from the Inquisition.” 

“ _ Great _ .” Orta muttered and leaned against Damen who worried his lower lip. Solas seemed unworried while Varric plastered a smirk on his face. Maraas clicked her tongue. Abelas only nodded at the woman because she didn’t know what to say. 

The woman went on, “They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intended to meet you.” 

Cassandra moved forward without fear, “There’s only one thing to do then.” The company followed after her without fear. The woman was told to go back to Haven. Cassandra gave a noise of disgust, “I can’t believe that they  _ assume _ to protect the people from us.” 

“We did kinda expect this.” Orta giggled, “It’s not like the thought of some angry Qunari mother protecting her very small magical elf child is a common thing that happens outside of stories. Or the fact that the hole in the sky is glaring down at us all the fucking time.” 

“Orta has a point.” Damen said. Abelas held onto the large hand of Maraas and kept her head held high. She hadn’t done anything wrong and there was no reason to fear these people. They had see that she wasn’t the one who broke the sky or killed that nice lady. Right? On the other side of the market a stage had been set up and on it were people in white and people in armor and crowd of angry people seemed to agree with everything that they were saying. They pushed to the front of the stage so they could plead their case. 

The voice was laughing mockingly,  _ What is a mob to a king? What is a king to a God? What is a God to a nonbeliever? The answer is the same, child; nothing. These people fear and like sheep they follow whoever has the loudest voice. Strive to the thundering voice from on high, and they shall not fear you any longer. They will follow where you tell them to go.   _

“Good people of Val Royeaux,” a mother said, lifting her arms to include everyone, “hear me. Together we mourn of Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer, well... _ wonder _ no more.  **_Behold_ ** !” she pointed at Abelas who flinched but stood her ground, “The Herald of Andraste, who claimed to  _ rise _ where our beloved  _ fell _ ! We say this is a false prophet. The Maker would send no  _ elf _ in our hour of need!” 

The crowd roared their agreement. Abelas felt her face flush and she called out the woman on the stage, “ **I** never said I  _ was _ the Herald! I didn’t kill the nice lady all of you are mourning!” 

Cassandra moved to stand next to Maraas, “It’s  _ true _ ! The Inquisition seeks only to end this  **madness** before it is too late.” 

The woman on stage seemed to puff up with pride as she said, “It is  **already** too late.” she pointed off stage and everyone turned. A very large group of Templars walked onto the stage and Abelas gripped the solid hand of Maraas. These men looked very angry and very... **_red_ ** . Something about the oldest man in the middle made her feel like she was looking at one of those face stealing demons again. But a Templar was a knight trained to  _ fight _ magic. They couldn’t be possessed right? The woman kept speaking, “The Templars have returned to the Chantry to face this  **_Inquisition_ ** and the people will be  _ safe _ once more.” 

_ At some point,  _ the voice yawned,  _ people realize they have no power once the illusion of it has been striped from them.  _

The oldest man walked right past the woman in white and as she turned to speak to him another man punched her in the back of the head and then punched her once more in the stomach. The whole crowd gasped and Abelas covered her eyes. She shook her head and forced her shaking hands down and instead curled them tightly into her cloak, hidden from view. The Templar that had been standing next to the woman in white moved to help her but the older man stopped him. 

“Still yourself.” he said, “She is  _ beneath _ us.” 

_ You see? Power is very much like being able to walk. Either you can or you can not. Illusion only makes those who are weak willed  _ **_think_ ** _ they have control. The reality of it is, those who have control, never question and worry about it.  _ The voice sounded  **bored** of the events unfolding before her. Like it had seen this happen so many times before it wasn’t even moved. 

Abelas was very afraid. But she also knew that he wasn’t suppose to hit those ladies in white. They were like the nice lady who died, but not as nice. She spoke, moving to stand closer to the stage before Maraas could grab her, “ _ Why did you do that?! _ She didn’t do  _ anything _ to you and you  _ hit _ her for no reason!” 

“She is  _ beneath _ us, as are  _ you _ .” the older man said and moved off the stage. Cassandra followed after him and his group. 

“Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak—” she began. 

Lord Seeker Lucius interrupted her, “You will  _ not _ address me.” 

Cassandra stopped short, “Lord Seeker?”

He turned to face her, face twisted into a scowl, “ _ You _ created a heretical movement. Raising up a  _ false _ prophet. You should be  _ ashamed _ . You should  _ all _ be ashamed. The Templars  _ failed _ no one when they left the Chantry to purge the Mages.  **_YOU_ ** are the ones who have failed.  **_YOU_ ** , who leech our righteous swords with doubt and fear. If you came to appeal to the Chantry then you are too late. The only destiny here that  _ demands _ respect is  **mine** .” 

“I don’t respect men who hit old mouthy women. No matter how much the old bitch deserved it for yelling at the kid like she did.” Orta said as she cocked her hips and placed one hand on them.. 

The nice Templar—who had tried to help the old lady in white—moved to stand next to Lucius, “Lord Seeker. What is the girl really  _ was _ sent by the Maker?” 

Another Templar snapped at him, “You are called to a higher purpose.  _ Do not question _ .” 

“I will make the Templar Order one that shall stand  _ alone _ against the void,” Lucius moved closer, glared up at Maraas as he spoke, “We  _ deserve _ recognition.  _ Independence _ . You have shown me  **_NOTHING_ ** and the Inquisition  **_less than nothing._ ** ” He turned to address his group, “Templars, Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march.” 

They left. 

Varric gave a huff, “Charming fellow isn’t he?” 

Cassandra glared after the Templars as they left, “Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” 

Damen looked around his feet, “Where’s Abelas?” 

They all looked around. Abelas was sitting next to the woman who had been hit, trying to help her to her feet as the other members of the Chantry prayed. Once the woman was at least sitting up instead of being prone of the floor, Abelas handed her the folded sweet bread that Damen had gotten her in the last town they had passed through. The woman only shook her head and was helped away. As the went to leave the city an arrow flew past them with a note attached to it. Orta read it aloud. It was a confusing letter to say the least but the meaning was clear. 

Red Jenny wanted to meet. 

Orta, Varric and Cassandra would go to this meeting. Before even taking ten steps after the company spilt a messenger came with an invitation to a luncheon with a woman called The Lady of Iron. It was addressed to Abelas by name. She wanted to go and Maraas puckered her lips in anger. Solas pointed out that the note did not say Abelas couldn’t bring guest. Damen agreed. Abelas smiled as Maraas let out a heavy sigh and asked the messenger where this Lady of Iron lived. He was more than happy to show them the way.

As they left the iron gate of the main market a voice called out to them. Abelas was expecting another person to give her a letter. She wasn’t expecting to see an elf in robes. She asked for a moment for their time. Cassandra looked this elf for a long moment and then asked

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

Abelas didn’t know who that was but she knew a title when it came up. It was the way people said. An unsaid way of putting importance on things.  _ Someone important then _ , she thought as the voices whispered to each other about this woman. 

Solas moved closer to her, eyes assessing Fiona even as he kept his stance non threatening, “Leader of the mage rebellion. Is is not dangerous for you to be here?” 

She answered them without any malice in her tone, “I heard of the gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.” She looked down at Abelas. Abelas smiled up at her. Abelas didn’t like to smile, but she knew it made people feel better about her. She didn’t know why though. Fiona looked back up at Maraas, “If it is help you seek to seal The Breach, you should look among the mages.” 

“I’m surprised the  _ leader _ of the mages wasn’t at the conclave.” Maraas said in way of answer. Cassandra crossed her arms in agreement. 

“Yes. You were suppose to be and yet you—somehow—avoided death.” 

Fiona raised an eyebrow at Cassandra, “As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note. Both of us sent negotiators in our stead. In case it was a trap. I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day.” Her face twisted into a sour look, “It  _ disgust _ me to think that the Templars will get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

Abelas was confused for a long moment before she asked, “You think the Templars are responsible for what happened?” Abelas was very confused. She had seen Templars at the conclave but...she couldn’t remember if any had been inside talking to the nice lady that everyone called the Divine. She wondered why she thought of her as the nice lady instead of her name or title. Abelas didn’t dwell on it too long. If she tried to think about it too long her nose would bleed.

The voice gave a tsk, tsk noise,  _ It does not good to dwell on the past, child. Look always to the future, but learn your lesson from history, so as not to repeat them.  _

“Why wouldn’t she?” Cassandra asked as she shifted her weight, letting her arms cross over her stomach loosely. Fiona mirrored her stance.

“Lucius hardly seems _broken_ _up_ by his losses, if he’s concerned about them at all. You heard him. You think he wouldn’t _happily_ kill the Divine to turn the people against us?” She unfolded her arms and looked back at Maraas, “So **yes**. I think he did it. More than I think you,” she looked once more at Abelas, “did it at any rate.”

Maraas cracked her knuckles with a single slow flex of her hand, “Does that mean the mages will help us?”

Fiona gave a slight scoff, “We are willing to  _ discuss _ it with the Inquisition, at least. Consider this an invitation to RedCliffe; come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there.” She turned to smile at Abelas, tired and afraid, but a smile none the less, “Au revoir, my lady Herald.” She turned back into the market and they lost sight of her in the milling crowd as it went about its day. Maraas shooed her away to the messenger who had waited for them politely. The estates of the nobles here crowded along the river.

It was odd to see such large homes and know that only a few people inside of it. They came to a house that seemed much grander than the other homes. Cassandra and the others said that they would wait outside, in case it was a trap. Maraas took out a clean cloth and used the cool water of the outside fountain to clean Abelas as best as she could. A quick comb of the black hair and then it was tied up and away from her face. Abelas looked a little better for the journey she had undergone. They entered the mansion with more confidence than they felt and a man was waiting with a scroll of paper calling out names. 

He announced Abelas and Maraas. The room was grand, sleek and shiny white marble with blue walls. Sweet food and perfume. The floor under the bare feet of Abelas was warm from so many people walking along it and the women dragging their dresses along it. They made their way to the middle of the room, near the protruding front of some minor grand staircase. A man and woman in mask came up to them to speak. Abelas didn’t like that she couldn’t see their faces.

The voices in her head hissed and jerked at the shiny metal gleaming in the low light of the lunch party. 

_ Ah, the worst kind of deception. Just because people can not see each others faces does not mean you can’t hear a lie when it is told. Tread as softly as a mouse here.  _ The voice advised her softly, as though it was telling her a secret. She swore she could feel a cool hand on her shoulder and another cupping around her as though someone really was telling her a secret. She glanced out of the corner of her eye. Nothing. 

The man spoke nicely enough to them.

“A pleasure, madame. We so rarely have a chance to meet anyone  _ new _ . It is always the same crowd at these parties.” he told them. A voice in her head hissed that everyone here had blood on their hands. She moved closer to Maraas and held her leg for support. Maraas smoothed her hair as the man kept talking, “So you must be a guest of Madame De Fer. Or are you here Duke Bastien?”

“Are you here on business?” the woman in the high necked gown and funny hat asked, “I have heard the most  _ curious _ tales about you. I can not  _ imagine _ half of them are true.” 

Maraas raised an eyebrow, “Whic story? The one where I’m a Qunari savage who has come to kill you all or the one where I’m really a man and that I killed the Divine by speaking to her of sexual perversions?” 

Both of them ducked their heads briefly before looking up once more. It was the woman who looked at Abelas and spoke to her, “Some say that when the veil opened, it was Andraste  _ herself _ who delivered you from the Fade.” 

Abelas looked down at her feet as she answered, “I did fall out of the veil, but I don’t know if it was your holy lady or not.” The woman clapped her hands together in delight. 

“ _ Better and better! _ The Inquisition should attend more of these parties!” 

“The Inquisition! What a load of pig-shit!” a man's voice called out. Abelas and Maraas looked to the minor grand staircase as a man in poofy pants stalked down toward them, his arms moving as he talked, “Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously.” he pushed past them to stand in front of Maraas, back to the main grand staircase. Abelas clung a little tighter to Maraas. Maraas didn’t seem too worried. Abelas could never tell, “Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political  _ outcast _ to grab power.” 

Maraas sneered at the man, “We have never made any claim to be holy nor to want power. So what’s your point?” 

“In front of all these people,  _ you _ ,” The man pointed to Abelas with a wide arching finger, “admit to being a pretentious usurper!” he moved closer to Maraas to stand only half an arm's length away from her, “We know what your “ _ Inquisition _ ” truly is. If you were a woman of honor you would let that  _ knife-ear  _ step outside and answer the charges.” The man gave a startled gasp and then froze. Abelas watched as he was frozen, ice covering his whole body. She hoped she hadn’t done that. 

A voice spoke out from the top of the main grand staircase, “My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in  _ my _ house...to  _ my _ guests.” A very pretty woman came down from those stairs, wearing bronze horns tipped in gold, a white mage gown, black boots, and a silver mask. Abelas was very confused for a moment because at first she thought it was another Qunari but then she saw that it was a human woman. She liked her both ways, and the woman spoke so clearly and softly. Abelas liked her, “You know such rudeness is... _ intolerable _ .” 

The man groaned out, “Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon.” 

The woman, Vivienne, came to stand between Maraas and the Marquis, “You should.” Vivienne lifted up her very lady like hands and cupped the face of the Marquis before asking him in a “tutu-ing” tone of voice, “ _ Whatever _ am I going to do with you,  _ my dear _ ?” She turned to look at Maraas, who was given a polite nod of the head and then she looked down at Abelas with a very kind smile. The voices didn’t mind that she wore a mask, she wasn’t really hiding, “My lady, you are the wounded party in this  _ unfortunate _ affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?” 

The voices urged her to be honest, and she had always strived to be honest. She let go of Maraas and gave Vivienne a small—and horribly done—curtsey, before answering, “I don’t really care, Madame Vivienne. This is your house. You choose.” 

Vivienne smiled wide, her sparkling white teeth like a tiny second smile in the dim light. Abelas felt herself blush. Vivienne snapped her fingers and the man wheezed as he tried to breath. The ice melted away. She turned to address the Marquis, one hand on her hip, “Poor Marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some  _ Ferelden _ dog-lord. And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney?” she chuckled, “To think, that all the brave Chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning...and  _ you’re _ still  _ here _ .” Vivienne placed both hands on her hips, her head held high, body between Abelas and the Marquis, “Were you hoping to state your damaged pride by defeating a  _ child _ in a public duel? Or were you hoping that her caretaker would end your wounded pride with her weapon?” 

The Marquis opened and closed his mouth but no words came to him. Maraas gave a low snort and a muttered, “Foolish man.”

Vivienne shooed him away with a flick of her wrist, “Run along now, my dear. Do give my regards to your aunt.” once he was gone Vivienne turned to look at Maraas and smiled once more, this time a little less kind and much more treacherous than the one given to Abelas, “I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering. I’ve  _ so _ wanted to meet you.” She lead them up the stairs to a little library to speak. She opened up a window that doubled as a door out into the garden. Abelas was given leave to play outside and the door was left ajar. Maraas and Vivienne watched her run around and somersault through the grass.

“This is more than just a social call.” Maraas said softly, her arms crossed as she leaned on the wooden frame of the door. Vivienne turned to her and nodded. 

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.” 

Maraas could care less, “Is that Marquis going to be a problem?” 

Vivienne, it seemed, was also a women who didn’t care to beat around the bush and went right for the throat of the matter to appease Maraas and her worry, “His aunt is the Vicomtesse of Mont-De-Glace, not a powerful family but well respected. And very devout. Alphonse will be disowned for this. It’s not the first time he’s brought his aunt disgrace, but I’m sure it’ll be the last. And after such a public humiliation I expect he’ll run off to the Dales to join the Empresses’ war effort. Either to make a good end or to win back a  _ modicum _ of self respect.” 

Maraas turned to look at Vivienne and gave her slow nod before looking back out the window as Abelas splashed in a low pool of water, her laughter silent, but her smile wide and true, “Nice to know that not all of you who live in this city don’t know when the time for the truth is needed. It is nice to meet you, Lady of Iron.” 

“Ah, but I didn’t invite you to the Chateau for pleasantries. With Divine Justina dead the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore order and sanity to our frightened people. As the Leader of the last  _ loyal _ Mages of Thedas, I felt it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.” 

Maraas chuckled and shook her head before looking at Vivienne and standing straight, “I met a woman who leads rebel mages and now I meet one who leads loyal mages. I wonder, who are these mages loyal to?” 

Vivienne gave a lady like click of her tongue, “ _ Fiona _ . Her and others of her ilke are loyal to a fever dream that has no hope. The loyal mages are loyal to the people of Thedas, of course. We—unlike those who have no honor—have not forgotten the commandment; that magic exist to serve man.” 

Maraas smirked at her and held out her hand. When Vivienne put her much smaller hand into the larger one of Maraas it was kissed quickly, “Welcome aboard, dear Lady of Iron.”

**********

Falon’Din watched as the Qunari and the mage talked on the other side of the glass. Abelas was playing the low pool of water and he was keeping her always in the corner of his eye. A hand placed itself on his shoulder. He knew that hand. He gently covered it with his own, “Dirthamen.” 

“Brother.” 

“Dangerous for you to be so far from the Fade, isn’t it?” 

Dirthamen came to stand next to him also watching, “I bring you news.” 

“Oh?” 

His twin leaned in close and kissed his cheek before whispering into his ear, “The Magister comes for her soul.”


	5. Jenny darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenny darling, you're my best friend. But there's a few things that you don't know about.

Orta had to follow fucking arrows and clues. Why? Because Red Jenny was a funny bitch who liked to make you  _ work _ for everything. Orta hoped that it was some fiery redheaded woman with a nice rack and a mean left hook. Oh! Or better yet, some Qunari like Maraas with an ass and boobs to match and a sweet smile. Orta shook her head to clear her thoughts. Varric chuckled and she looked at him as they made their way to the meeting place, the sun setting behind the buildings.

“You got something to say, storyteller?” she asked as they moved around the people walking so fucking  _ slow _ . She wanted to punch these tall people. You have tall legs, use them! She wanted to tell them that so often. But Damen and Maraas had told her not to do that because most tall people didn’t walk like they did and she shouldn’t get mad over things people did. She wanted to call bullshit on that but when faced with those damn teary eyes from Damen and the glorious rack of Maraas, she couldn’t do anything.

“Naw, I have a lot to say. It can fill books, Firecracker.” he answered. Cassandra made a noise that Orta was going to coin as her default noise whenever Varric spoke. Disgust.

“Like that horrible book series about love? What was it called again? Spears and Snoops?” Orta chuckled as they took a staircase down and followed the little map into the back alleys of the general aparments. They were often in the back of the small cafes and restaurants, she noted, what with all of them being mercenaries and now being called heretics, it made sense. Varric laughed though at her horrible pun. 

“ _ Sword and Shields _ ? I’ll give it you, that was  _ not _ my best work. Truth be told, I’ve never had a good example of love. What about you?”

Orta could name a few names. Emily, from her hometown; they had been fourteen. The first girl she had ever kissed with a giggle that always ended in a snort. Her mother had never liked Emily. She had said that her laugh was grating on the nerves. But when it’s your first love, there isn’t anything that they do that you don’t love. And then you grow up and when you look back you can see all the things that once been cute but had become a bad habit. 

Emily did had a cute laugh, but she had been a human mage, and the blue stuff kept her love longer and stronger than the love Orta had given. They had gone their separate ways not too long after that first kiss. Orta to the Carta and then to Maraas and their little group. Emily to a grave inside her own mind because of a Templar. 

Hannah. A dwarf girl in the Carta with more freckles than the night sky had stars. She had taught Orta how to curl her tongue just  _ right _ and how to pick a lock with a flick of her wrist. A job gone wrong had put an end to their affair. Orta never stopped liking freckles on women though. Maraas didn’t have any but the kid did. Like tiny little sparkles on her skin, a diamond shimmer over her cheeks. 

Bethany. An elf with blonde hair and too many scars. A whore that Orta had loved to visit. It wasn’t  _ love _ . Not really. But Orta was always much nicer than her other customers in the Blooming Rose. Orta hadn’t wanted to stay in Kirkwall too long after some crazy killer had ended her life short. 

Sam. The archer that had been in their group for a short time. She had left the city and had come to join them on their merry quest of doing odd jobs. She and Orta enjoyed each other, trained with each other. They weren’t friends, fuck, they were barely even fuck buddies. It still hurt when she ran off with that blond haired human though. Last time Orta had seen her, she had a kid and really  _ nice _ life; Orta couldn’t fault her for that. 

Ashley. Her sister. That was enough. Orta answered, “I had a good front row seat to see love pan out for other people.” Varric didn’t push her for more information. He knew how hard it was to see the people you loved happy. It wasn’t that you  _ didn’t _ want them to be happy, you just wanted them to be happy like they were with  _ you _ . The sun was well and truly set by the time they came to back alley that Red Jenny had wanted to meet them in.

A fight wasn’t on the clues, but Orta didn’t care. It was a  _ fight _ . Orta kept a firm grip on her daggers as she threw out a smoke bomb and moved to jump up onto the crates and then used her own momentum to launch herself into the chest of one thug. Her dagger pierced into the throat and hit the bone. She jerked the dagger to the right, cutting the flesh as she did so. As the thug fell she flipped away and dodged between swords swings. Cassandra body slammed two thugs into the stone wall and Varric put a bolt through both of their skulls before spinning and getting a third. 

Orta used Cassandra to shield her for a moment as she uncorked a vial of poison and coated her daggers in it. She threw the empty vial into the face of one thug and then stabbed two—one dagger each—in the kidneys. They dropped like flies in a fire pit. The fight was over fairly quickly. They walked up a flight of small stairs—after looting the bodies of course—and went through a blue door. Orta didn’t understand these fucking people and the color  _ blue _ . Was it because Qunari had red? 

Or maybe it was because Tevinter had gold? She didn’t know but it pissed her off. As they entered through the door they had to dodge a few choice fireballs by a man in one of those stupid golden mask and poofy pants. As they ducked into a small alcove of crates the man gloated.

“The Herald of Andraste sends her lackeys? How much did you  _ expend _ to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition  _ immeasurably _ !”  

Orta looked at Varric and mouthed to him, ‘Who the fuck is this?’ to which Varric gave a very unimpressed shrug of his shoulders as he lifted Bianca up to get ready for round two of the fights. Orta called out from her hiding spot, “We don’t know who you are you  _ ass-hat _ !”

The man chuckled, “You don’t fool me! I’m  _ too _ important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!” Orta looked at Cassandra and then back at Varric. Yeah, rushing this fool sounded like a good plan. As Orta held up one finger the sound of a death guggle had her halt the second finger.

“Just say “what.” A new voice said. Female. Orta looked at Cassandra. She looked at Orta. Alright, so no one knew this voice then. Just fucking  **great** . The man growled and answered.

“What is the-” and then another death gurgle. Orta sighed and muttered a curse under her breath before stepping out and seeing an elf. A pretty elf with blonde hair, freckles, a nice rack and legs covered in...whatever kind of pattern that was with that yellow. Damn did it hurt the eyes to look at such beauty. Orta smacked herself in her own mind and crossed her arms. The little elf gave a noise of disgust as she walked over to the body and poked it with her foot.

She looked at Orta as she spoke, “Squishy one, but you heard me, right? “Just say, what.” Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.  _ “Blah, blah, blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face! _ ” So you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re...you’re all  _ dwarfy _ ! I didn’t mean nothin but..you’re down there. I mean, it’s all good? Isn’t it? The important thing is you’re her. You’re the Herald!” 

Orta raised an eyebrow, “No. I know the kid though. I know we’re about the same height but she’s a cute elf and I’m a sexy dwarf. But you killed this arsehole before we could figure out who he worked for and make them pay.”

She frowned at Orta, “And before he could shout magic! My people said that the Inquisition would want him dead!” 

Orta gave a chuckle, “Your people?  **Fuck** you sound like the  _ kid _ . You mean elves?” 

She looked very offended but then smirked and gave a chuckle, “No.  _ People _ people. Name’s Sera. This is cover,” she said and pointed to the crates they had just been hiding behind, “get around it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry someone's tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no  _ breeches _ !” 

This fight was different from the one before. These were not common thugs but trained mercenaries. Orta had been itching for a good blood soaked romp. They didn’t have any pants on though, which made her snort in amusement. She dove into the heart of the fight and relished the feeling of blood spray as it flew past her. Dagger into a thigh, the other stabbing into the crotch area. Arrows and bolts rained down around her as she fought. 

Cassandra body checked one of them over the railing and back down into the courtyard. Orta followed him over and let the force of gravity send her dagger deep into his throat. Orta could feel the cool stone scratch the tip of her dagger as she jerked it down and then out, flipping away as one of them took a swing at her. Cassandra thrust her sword home into his face. Into the eye and out came a fountain of blood. Sera gave a grunt as she used the dead body of one to jump and flip over a large stack of crates, sending an entire bow full of arrow into an enemy. As Orta caught her breath she looked around. They had won. 

She wiped off her daggers and moved to the bodies that were still twitching. She ended that quickly with a quick slit in their throats. She filtered through their pockets to get at the coins and anything else. She could hear Sera and Varric pulling any salvageable arrows or bolts from the dead. Cassandra was cleaning her weapon. Orta stood and dusted herself off, the blood not bothering her at all. Clothing could be washed. 

She saw the gate that could lead them out back to the main road. She told them that and they all began to move toward it. 

Sera giggled as they walked toward the exit, “Friends really came through with that tip. _No_ _breeches_! So not Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.” 

“Answers first. Who are you people?” Orta asked as she leaned on a still standing crate and took out her pipe to smoke. Sera looked at Orta with a scrunched up nose and her ears tilting down.

Sera answered, “I’m not “ _ people _ .” But I get what you want. It goes like this: I sent you a note to find hidden stuff by my friends. The friends of Red Jenny. That’s  _ me _ ! Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven, brothers or something. It’s just a name, yeah? It let’s little people—“friends”—be part of something while they stick it to the nobles they  _ hate _ . So here, in your face, I’m Sera. “The friends of Red Jenny” are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows.” 

“The Inquisition already has spies.” Cassandra says, “Can you add to these professionals?” 

Sera snorts, “Here’s how it is. You “important” people are up here,” she lifted her hands, thumbs and forefinger up and out to make a half square above her head and then she put them away quickly after illustrating her point, “shoving your cods around.  _ “Blah, blah, I’ll crush you, I’ll crush you!” _ She made a kissing noise, her face smashed into a mockery of it and Orta snorted,  _ “I’ll crush you!” _ she cleared her throat, “Then you’ve got cloaks and spy-kings, like this tit. Or was he one of the little knives, all serious with his...little knife. All those secrets and what gave him up? Some house boy who don’t know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I’m not all knifey shivdark, all hidden. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards! I stole their... _ look _ , do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?” 

Orta smirked, “It’s a spy network that doesn’t have to try. I like it. We can use you and your “friends” in this party.” 

“ **_Yes_ ** !” Sera said, “Get in now before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be.” 

*************

Vivienne was not impressed when she saw Haven. She had enjoyed the trip with the little Herald and her caretakers, the child was sweet. Her Qunari caretaker was a stern but fair women who took care of those who needed it, offered help if it was required, and tried to do no harm. But she didn’t take, as the common folk called it, bullshit. On their second day out from her city, they met up with the rest of the entourage. The mouthy elf with blonde hair didn’t seem to like her but Vivienne didn’t care. As they came upon the gate, Abelas scrambled down from her perch on the back of Maraas and ran toward a blonde man with a delighted cry of, “Cullen!” 

This  _ Cullen _ was currently speaking to a short man in heavy armor. 

At his name he got to one knee and opened his arms as she ran into them. He lifted her up and balanced her on his hip as she chatted at him. On the whole trip she had been nearly silent as a mouse, but now she was talking the winds away. As they drew near the blonde elf, Sera, and herself were introduced to Cullen, the commander of the army. Maraas looked to the stocky man and jerked her head at him. Cullen sighed as he placed Abelas on his shoulders and answered that the young man was called Krem and that he was offering his services and his groups for the Inquisition. An invitation to the Storm Coast to see them in action was given. 

Maraas thanked him and said she would think about it. Maraas lead them to the Chantry to be formally introduced to everyone and also for Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet to keep records of whom was now the “inner circle those whom would be made privy to all information that would affect Abelas. Leliana took that moment to inform Maraas that another alley would be found in the form of a Grey Warden spotted in the Hinterlands. Vivienne knew who Leiana was. A companion of the great Hero Of Ferelden. A former Dalish elf who killed an archdemon and married the current king. Well, married in everything but official title as Queen. 

The people called the “queen” her title, but they spoke of the Warden Queen with more respect than the one sitting on the throne. A mark of true power. Maraas agreed that a Grey Warden might have information on a possible suspect if he or she didn’t want to join. They would set out after a few days rest. A group would have to go and find this “Iron Bull” and his men on the Storm Coast as well. Vivienne volunteered to go with Maraas to find the Grey Warden. Maraas chuckled and said she was heading for the coast instead.

“My dear, if I wanted to be subjected to icy sleet I would go to a dowager widows ball. I will go to look for this Grey Warden. But I will not go to the Storm Coast unless a mage of great talent is absolutely required.”

“Fair enough. We can make up teams later. A least three more need to go with each of us. Abelas will stay here. She needs to catch up on her studies.” Maraas said softly. After two weeks of resting, and reports of the Hinterlands being cleaned up by Damen, Solas and Varric on one week, while Orta, Sera and Cassandra took the next week they were due to set off. 

Vivienne, Orta, Cassandra, and Sera would go to find the Grey Warden, while Maraas would take the others to find this Iron Bull. Abelas waved goodbye to them all, before Marass turned and raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk on her face. She held up a much smaller pack, a tiny dagger and a pair of sturdy but tiny shoes. Abelas smiled and ran to put all these things on and went with Vivienne, whom Maraas said was more qualified to be a caretaker than others.Vivienne declined and Abelas went with Maraas instead. 


	6. The Grey Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come---oath of the Nightswatch 
> 
> In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice.--Oath of the Grey Wardens.

Cassandra was by no means a hasty person. She was quick to anger, and she was not above admitting it, but she was not a hasty person when it came to things that would impact the lives of others. She was not chosen to be a hand of the Divine because she was rash. So far this trip was  _ not _ going well. They had only split up from each other at the foot of the mountain and Vivienne was not impressed with Sera. Sera had her own colorful words for The Lady of Iron. For the moment—after Sera had shot an arrow past Vivienne— resulting in the mage shooting a glare at her with a sneer of her smooth face. 

Orta and Sera took point and Cassandra walked with Vivienne. The arrangement had worked so far. Vivienne, as far as Cassandra could see, was woman of words. She spoke when it was important, and her words were chosen with care. As they entered the Hinterlands and made their way to their camp, Vivienne stuck up her nose and gave a small puff through it to clear it. She waved her hand in front of her face, her expression pinched, “The entire country  _ reeks _ of wet dog. How  _ charming _ .” 

“Most dogs here leave their owners homes,” Cassandra tells her, “after they are killed. Dogs will not eat their former masters, so they would rather become rabid or die in the wilds due to the war. And most Ferelden's let their dogs run about as they wish. It is a smell you acquire or learn to  _ ignore _ .” 

Vivienne folded her arms under her chest to ward off the chill of the approaching night. She nodded her head, “The fighting has been heaviest here.” 

Orta and Sera broke off to claim their tents and Cassandra bid Vivienne a good night as she made her way to a spare tent. As she wiped down her armor the tent flap opened and Vivienne came in, her headdress removed. Cassandra looked at her for a moment and then went back to cleaning her armor. As Vivienne dressed down she asked, “There are still Templar traitors in the hills, darling. Or am I misinformed on this?” 

“No. They are Templars. Maraas tried to clean away the camps as best she could, but we also knew that the longer we kept Abelas away from the capital, the worse things would be.” Cassandra answered as she put the lid on her armor oil. Vivienne turned to look at Cassandra over her shoulder, her eyes hard. 

“Those renegades  _ sully _ the Templar name.” she said and then she sat down on her cot and opened her pack, taking out sweet smelling vials and opening them, spreading the oils on her skin, and the smell floats between them as Cassandra unties her braid, “How  _ did  _ she come to be in the care of a Qunari, might I ask?” 

Cassandra smoothed her hair and rubbed at her scalp to ease the tension, “Abelas says that her clan died and was alone for a long time. She came across Maraas and the others one day. Maraas began to take care of her and she was been with them ever since. She will not speak on how her clan died though. Orta believes it was slavers.” 

“Your spymaster knows better.” 

“Yes. Abelas is the only survivor of a demon attack. Leliana had her people look,” Cassandra pulled the covers up and over her body as she go into the cot, “an apostate was used to try and find any information out. If there are any others who survived, they have since scattered to the winds.”

“That poor girl.” Vivienne sighed as she climbed under a much softer blanket and used her magic to blow out the low lite lanterns in the tent. No more was said that night and at dawn they set out again to try and find this Grey Warden. Leliana had not been provided with the exact place the Grey Warden could be found. The crossroads were a good place as any to ask for information. Nothing could be said of Grey Wardens, but the horse master  _ was _ in fact alive. He lived far from everyone out on his farm and he might have seen a wandering Grey Warden. 

They thanked the people and moved on, following the road over a broken bridge and then walking farther and farther into the heart of the Hinterlands. But it could be seen that once—long ago—a great paved way had wound upwards from the lowlands of the Dwarf-kingdom. Placed there were ruined works of stone beside the path, and mounds of green topped with slender birches, or fir-trees sighing in the wind. An eastward bend led them hard by the great sword in the sky, and there not far from the roadside stood a single column broken at the top. They found the farm quickly enough after a fight with some wolves. Dennett had seen a fire in the small dell on the other side of a small river at the back of his property and if they did him a favor he would come and be the horse master for the Inquisition, but not until the favors he asked had been done. They broke into two teams, one to kill the wolves in their den and one team to see if any clues could be found about where this Grey Warden went next. 

It was the middle of war, they couldn’t have gone far on their own. The wolf den was hidden in a cave with no roof, an old Dwarf hide away no doubt. A sneaky little green demon that looked more like a bug with too long legs was the reason the wolves had been attacking for no reason. Cassandra and Vivienne fought them as best as they could. Cassandra slashed and hacked at the wolves, blocking the claws of the demon when it came too close. Vivienne had somehow backflipped onto a higher perch with a narrow top, the demon unable to reach her. She literally rained down hell fire and ice, as well as keeping up a barrier for Cassandra. 

Once the demon was dead they made their way back to the farm, passing through a shin high river that lied under a small waterfall. A rift had begun to form there. Cassandra would have to tell Maraas when they got back to Haven, but first she had to tell the horsemaster to go ahead of them while the way was clear, for the Inquisition needed better battle mounts. Sera and Orta had not been idle. They had explored the small dell and the surrounding slopes. Not far away they found a spring of clear water in the hillside, and near it footprints not more than a day old. In the dell itself they found recent traces of a fire, and other signs of a hasty camp. There were some fallen rocks on the edge of the dell nearest to the hill. Behind them Sera came upon a small store of firewood neatly stacked.

Orta did have good news, “Asked around the farm. Turns out the farm hand, other than having a great idea to build watchtowers for this piss poor town—”

“Not a piss poor town. Just not as  _ fancy _ as the cities that miss sparkling crown over there,” Sera said as she pointed to Vivienne with her bow, “is from.” 

“ **ANYWAY** ,” Orta went on as they made their way to the edge of the farm and back toward the road that would lead them to the crossroads, “the farm hand saw someone on the road a few mornings ago. They were headed into the woods. Maybe even toward the lake.” 

“There are still Templar camps near the lake. Along with the Carta.” Cassandra says as they pick their way through the rough road. 

“They Carta would profit,” Vivienne remarks, “with both Mages  _ and _ Templars here.” 

“Not all of us are born with fancy silver-gold things dripping out our nose.” Sera snips at Vivienne. Vivienne raises an eyebrow at Sera who sticks her tongue out at her. The rest of the trip is made in uneasy silence as they wander close to the forest. There is a camp in there, perhaps a scout had seen the Grey Warden. They reach the camp at dusk and no one has seen the Grey Warden, but they have seen obvious farm hands with sloppy training trying to speak to Scout Harding about joining. When pressed about who trained them they said that a Grey Warden named Blackwall had trained them but he never stayed in one place for too long. 

He had been on the farm for a few days. He had been in the woods no more than three. The scouts said that the last farm hand they had sent to Haven to be trained by Cullen had said that Warden Blackwall had been making his way to the lake on the top of the hill. If they left at dawn they might catch him, since the easy path from the deep wood base to the lake is wrought with rogue Mages and Templars alike. Unless he takes the back route, which is defended by angry mother bears and their mates. Orta says she might, since a Grey Warden has nothing to lose. She isn’t wrong. 

There is no true cure for the Blight, only ways to slow it down. They leave at dawn, with Sera yawning all day. Vivienne has her hand clenched for the entire time. Cassandra wonders if she should have gone to the coast instead. No. She shook her head. She might try to kill Varric on the way there, and Abelas enjoyed his stories. 

It was already mid-day when they drew near the southern end of the path, and saw before them—in the pale clear light of the October sun—a grey-green bank, leading up like a bridge on the northward slope of the hill. They decided to make for the top at once, while the daylight was broad. Concealment was no longer possible, and they could only hope that no enemy or spy was observing them. Nothing was to be seen moving on the hill. If Warden Blackwall was about, there was no sign of him. They were not yet near the lake. At least four or five miles further west. 

Templars abusing them was  _ not _ part of the agenda for the day. Orta slammed a smoke vial down and Vivienne cast a barrier. Sera took aim for the archers in the back and her arrows flew true. The blood spray coated the backs of their comrades armor. Cassandra and a large brute clashed in a shrieking metal crash. They were evenly matched. Vivienne cast down glyphs and threw out ice to slow the movements of their enemies. 

Orta flipped back into existence and slid her daggers into the small openings in thick Templar armor. Sera knocked arrow after arrow, causing the enemies to try to dodge and run into each other. Cassandra and her evenly matched opponent gave up little ground to each other, their swords and shields scraping against each other. Orta stabbed the Templar in the knee and flipped away. The Templar jerked to the left, balance uneven, a growl leaving her lips. Cassandra brought down her sword with all her might and Sera let an arrow fly. The sword was sliced up into the air, the arrow knocked it from her hands and as Cassandra jerked herself away, Vivienne shot out lighting to fry the Templar in her once shiny armor. 

She gave a low gurgle of pain and fell limp to the ground. Dead. Orta walked out of the shadows and gave the dead body a light kick in the foot. Nothing. Sera and her made quick work to take the coins and Vivienne handed Cassandra a healing potion as she walked past her and the dead bodies on the road. Cassandra wiped her sword off and put it back in its sheath. She put on her shield and walked after Vivienne, gulping down the red liquid as she caught up to Vivienne. 

Orta and Sera jogged to keep up with them. The company was footsore and tired; but they trudged doggedly along the rough and winding track for many miles. The sun turned from the noon position and began to go west. After a brief halt and a hasty meal they went on again. Before them the mountains frowned, but their path lay in a deep trough of land and they could see only the higher shoulders and the far eastward peaks. At length they came to a sharp bend. There the road, which had been veering southwards between the brink of the channel and a steep fall of land to the left, turned and went due east again. 

Rounding the corner they saw before them a low cliff, some five fathoms high, with a broken and jogged top. Over it a trickling water dripped, through a wide cleft that seemed to have been carved out by a fall that had once been strong and full. They had gone little more than a mile, a long uphill battle, into the forest when they came upon another stream flowing swiftly down from the tree-clad slopes that climbed back westward towards the mountains. They heard it splashing over a fall away among the shadows on their right. It's dark hurrying waters ran across the path before them, the silver moonlight joined in a swirl of dim pools among the roots of trees. They made camp that night and set out before dawn for the lake. 

They came to the lake by the early morning and upon a group of men being talked to by a large, hairy man, with a full head of black hair and a long black beard. The hairy man was speaking to them, marching in front of them. 

“Remember to carry your shields. You’re not hiding, you’re  _ holding _ . Otherwise it’s useless.” he told them, lifting shields or putting them into the right position as he passed. Orta looked at Cassandra and pointed to the man speaking in full armor. Cassandra only gave a small shake of her head. Orta sighed and walked up to him, calling out.

“ _ Blackwall _ ?” the man stiffened, “ _ Warden Blackwall? _ ” he turned and looked down at Orta, eyes narrowed and face hard. 

“You’re not-—how do you know my name? Who sent—” he stopped himself and lifted his shield just in time to stop an arrow to his face. A slighter larger group poured out from the trees on the northern edge of the lake, screaming at them. Blackwall glared at Orta, “That’s it.  _ Help or get out.  _ We’re dealing with these idiots first.  _ Conscripts _ ! Here they come!” he told the young men he had been speaking to before. 

They all raised their swords and shields. Vivienne cast a barrier up and then threw an ice wall under the feet of their foes. Sera pinned them to the ice as Orta and the others ran to meet them. Cassandra created a path right down the middle, with one of them being slammed between her giant shield and a tree. The fight was over quickly. Blackwall and Cassandra worked well with each other. Sera and Vivienne made sure nothing hit them. Orta threw out poison darts as quickly as her hands could throw them. When the battle was won, Blackwall crouched over one of the dead bodies after sticking his sword into the ground. 

“Sorry bastards.” Blackwall said as he shook his head. He stood up and went to his remaining men, speaking to them in a clear and commanding voice, “Good work, conscripts. Even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve-—well, thieves are  _ made _ , not born. Take back what they stole. Go home to your families. You saved yourselves.” once they were gone, he looked at Orta, “You’re no  _ farmer _ . Who are you? Why do you know my name?”

“We know your name,” Cassandra said, “because we are members of the Inquisition.”

“We got sent out here to find you because Grey Wardens are missing  _ all _ over this fucking land mass,” Orta said, “and we were wondering if they had anything to do with the murder of the late Divine. You know, the normal shite people get asked to do when someone  _ important _ dies.” 

“Maker’s balls.” Blackwell said with a look of angry horror on his face, “The Wardens and the Divine? That can’t-— _ no _ , you’re asking so you don’t really know. First off, I didn’t know that they had disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the  _ first _ thing forgotten. But one thing I’ll tell you:  _ no Warden killed the Divine. _ Our purpose  **isn’t** political.”

“We aren’t here to start pointing fingers at people. Calm down. We came here for information and that was all. So far, you’re the only Grey Warden—other than King Alistair and the Warden Queen—that has been found. I don’t suppose  _ you _ have even a tiny clue as to where the others are right now?” Orta asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

Blackwall answered her with a straight answer, “I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript since there is no Blight coming. Treaties give Warden the right to take what we need.  _ Who _ we need. These idiots forced this fight. So I “ **conscripted** ” their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won’t need me. Grey Warden can  _ inspire _ , make you better than you think you are.” 

Orta looked at Cassandra, “That true, Lady Seeker? Grey Wardens can do whatever the hell they want and no one can say  _ shite _ about it?”

Blackwall answered her, “It’s  **complicated** . If there’s a Blight  _ everyone _ has to help the effort to fight it. The treaties are ancient. Outside of Blights, it’s as binding as a clever tongue can make it.” 

“Don’t you guys have any place you can meet? A safe house? A ruin? Hell, old dragon bones?  **_Something_ ** ? I mean where did they go, these Grey Warden?” 

Blackwall thought for a moment, “Maybe they returned to our stronghold in Weisshaupt? That’s in the Anderfells, a long way north. I don’t really know. Can’t imagine why they’d all disappear, let alone where they’d disappear to.” 

“I have a question for you, Warden Blackwall, why haven’t you gone missing along with all the others?” Cassandra asked. Blackwall looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, maybe I was going to. Or maybe there’s a new directive and a runner got lost or something. My job was to recruit on my own. Planned to stay that way for months.  _ Years _ .” 

Orta hung her head and sighed, “Well this was a nice chat and all, but we don’t know anything more than we did. It was nice speaking to you, Blackwall. Let’s head back, before Maraas and the others beat us back from the coast line.” 

As they began to trek to the next camp closest to them Blackwall called out to them, “Inquisition...agent, did you say. Hold a moment.”

Orta waited as he picked up his sword and walked over to them, “What?”

“The Divine is  _ dead _ and the sky is  _ torn _ . Events like these, thinking were absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need  _ me _ .” he said with conviction in his voice. 

Orta gave a smirk and a scoff, “And what can  _ one _ Grey Warden do?” 

Blackwall returned her smirk, “Save the fucking world if pressed. Look, maybe fighting demons from the sky isn’t something I’m  _ practiced _ at, but show me someone who is. And like I said, there are treaties. This isn’t a Blight but it’s bloody well a disaster. Some will honor them. Being a Warden means  _ something _ to a lot of people.” 

Orta thought for a moment. He did have a point. She held out her hand to him and he shook it, “Well, welcome aboard, Warden Blackwall. This will be a fun trip for all of us.”

“Good to hear,” Blackwall said as he went toward the small fishing hut and went inside and came back out with a small sack he slipped over his shoulder, “We both need to know what’s going on. And perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long.  _ This _ Warden walks with the Inquisition.” 

“Well I hope you like walking, ‘cause we have to go up a fucking  **mountain** to get home.”

“Maker’s balls woman, you swear more than  _ I _ do.” 

********************

Solas was getting tired of being pulled away from his wanderings by his siblings when he slept. He had been expecting Flemeth or even Andruil, but not Falon’Din. His eldest brother had made a habit of not speaking to him unless he was truly desperate. Solas narrowed his eyes at him and Falon’Din continued to run his fingernails over the sun dried bones of a dragon in the Fade. 

“Well?” Solas questioned him. 

“My thoughts trouble me,” Falon’Din said and held his left hand in front of him, moving it this way and that, “about the girl. And her mark.” 

“They should,” Solas sighed and sat down on a protruding stone, “since the mark is accelerating the rate of magic so quickly that I might not be able to contain it long enough for her to even stop the tear in the Fade.” 

Falon’Din looking at him and then back down at the bones, placing his hand gently atop the skull, “There is no proof that the mark has accelerated the rate of her magical instability.” 

“The mark was placed onto her during a ceremony of corrupt blood magic. The mark—which is  _ proof  _ enough—must be removed or she will into you. Or she could turn out  _ worse _ .” Solas snapped at him. 

“Death is not just or evil; it  _ is.”  _

Solas rolled his eyes, “It is influenced by the  _ will _ of the user.” 

Falon’Din turned to look at him, his hand still resting atop the bones, “You worry too much. She isn’t a woman yet; she’s not even a decade old.” 

“Children grow quickly.” Solas sighed and crossed his legs, “And this child will not die or grow old. She might not ever stop being a child.”

Falon’Din was silent for a while, just looking at him, “Did you ever wonder  _ why  _ I made myself stop aging? Why I made myself an ageless, faceless,  _ horror  _ who could not die?” 

“Enlighten me.” 

“Because being who are  _ aware  _ of their limited time will try to strive to benefit the generations who come after. Not always, and not many, but enough. Immortal things only care for themselves. By being death, I made the immortals  _ pause.”  _

Solas gave him a sneer, “And look how that turned out.” 

“I grew drunk on my power, Solas.” Falon’Din admitted, “All of us did. Even  _ you.”  _

“I changed—” 

Falon’Din slammed his hand onto the bones and the burst into a thousand pieces, “ **_YOU DIDN’T CHANGE!_ ** You wanted to be the hero.” 

Solas went to argue, “That’s not—” 

“Then  _ what _ ,” Falon’Din asked as he blew away the bone dust from his hand, “made you change your mind? Who told you about the “ _ plight _ ” of our people while under our abusive yolk?” 

Solas stood to his feet abruptly, “It  _ was  _ abuse! Someone had to save them!” 

“So it had to be you? Just like when you made that human slave girl into a  _ messiah.”  _ Falon’Din spat out. 

“Andraste,” Solas stressed her name while his hands—which he had clenched into fists—shook at his sides, “wanted to save her people.” 

“Like you?” Falon’Din asked him mockingly. 

“I  _ did  _ save them.” Solas hissed. 

“And they went from the slaves of gods to the slaves of human mages.” Falon’Din sighed and then walked past him, “Show me the corruption, Solas. Prove it to me.” 

“How would you like me to do that?” 

Falon’Din placed his hand—still covered in a fine sheen of bone dust—onto his shoulder and gave a squeeze, “I’m sure you’ll think of something, you little trickster.” 


	7. The Storm Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring. He went to bed, hit his head, and didn't wake up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telanadas=nothing is inevitable  
> Vir sumeil=we are close  
> Ellasin selah!= According to the official WIKI this has no meaning but I have decided to make it mean Murderous Wretch  
> Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din=Speak you rebel. You triumph over nothing.Your pride will be your death.  
> Banal nadas=Nothing is inevitable

Abelas waved to Orta and the others as they went their own way down the path to the Hinterlands while they went along a much more jagged road that would take them to the Storm Coast. Damen hummed as they walked, Abelas holding his hand as they made their way there. The winter winds died slowly but surely as they went down the mountain and down into the valley. They rested at night and at night Abelas saw more shadows with elvhen features, speaking in hushed but worried tones. They never seemed to know that she was there or even where they were. She could never hear what it was that they were whispering to each other about. She sometimes thought she saw Solas, or a younger version of him at least. 

But it never was, since it was always him that would drag her attention away from the shadows and into the real world. The land was pleasant enough to walk through, smooth and temperate. But the clouds gathered closer and closer until the sun was no longer able to be seen peeking through the grey and moist clouds hanging low over them. The rain was not a surprise to anyone. But it was a  _ surprise _ when the skies opened and a flood came down on them. Damen snatched Abelas up and tucked her under his cloak but it did little good. The rain soaked through his thick cloak and onto Abelas in a matter of moments. 

They went on regardless until a low growl shook the sky and then it was light as day outside. They ran to the woods which bordered the road and ducked under the largest leaf umbrella that was given to them by nature itself; a tree. Damen handed Abelas to Solas and rung out his own cloak. Abelas shook her head and squeezed the water from her hair. Abelas was then handed to Maraas as Solas wiped his face off and rung out his shirt. Varric wiped Bianca off until she was dry before taking care of himself. Abelas squinted up at the sky, trying to see the rain through the thick leaves of the tree they had taken shelter under. 

Maraas didn’t bother to try and dry herself, she simply set Abelas down on the top of her boots and Abelas gripped her belt in a tight grip. Solas noticed and gave her a look. She shook her head at him and instead they waited. The rain stayed and stayed and stayed. The sky became a darker grey as the day went by and the night came. Damen shivered in the cold and Abelas huddled between the knees of Maraas, puffing into her hands. Maraas huffed harshly through her nose and glared out at the darkness.

She picked Abelas up, handed her to Solas and then began to take off her weapon, her upper armor and clothing. It was then that Solas and Varric learned first hand that Qunari females did  _ not _ , in fact, wear a chest support. Her bare breast became cold and her nipples pebbled from the chil. Abelas reach up and slammed her hands over Solas’ eyes. Maraas grabbed Abelas and put her on her chest. Abelas wrapped her arms around the thick neck of Maraas and hooked her knees under the space between the armpits and ribs, her feet using the wide hips under her as footholds. Maraas put her shirt back on and then her armor. It was loose on her now, but it was to protect Abelas. 

The weapon was put on last and then Maraas stepped out into the rain and began to lightly jog back to the road and a slow run down the road. Damen ran to catch up with her, the others not far behind him. Abelas dug her fingers into the short hairs at the back of the neck she was using to support her. The rain didn’t beat down on her as much and it was warm inside the shirt and the skin under her. She felt herself getting sleepy and tucked her head down further into the shirt and closed her eyes. This time there was nothing to see in her dreams. It was just a dreamless and easy sleep. 

The rain let up for a few moments and from the fog coming up from the ground a town came with it in the distant. The inn was warm and the rooms clean. Abelas was shaken awake so she could be given a bath and tucked into bed. Maraas walked around the room in the nude, using the fire to dry the clothing. Damen was using the next bed to sleep as well, his own clothing drying over the fire; Solas and Varric shared another room down the hall from theirs. Maraas made sure the clothing didn’t catch fire, the heat warming her skin. She missed the heat in Par Vollen.

She missed the scent of spices and clay on the wind, the soft giggle of many children around her. The food so hot it burned on the tongue and into the throat. She didn’t miss her duties as a Tamassran though. Not the child raising part, the other duties. She did not miss being held down by her own country men and fucked. She didn’t like giving away her children to another of her sect to be raised. She didn’t like having to take the mage children to that horrible white building to be trained. 

Abelas gave a little noise as she turned over in bed, and Maraas turned her head to look at her. The blanket was coming off and she moved to pull the blanket back up to cover the small body. Once the clothing was warm she placed the thick cloak over Damen and put her own clothing on. Abelas was put back into her own clothing, her little body like wet clay. They set out at dawn. The rain was now a soft mist as they moved. Abelas was still asleep, hidden under the thick, warm cloak of Damen. 

Abelas wiped her eyes with the inside of her wrist and gave a loud sniff as she lifted her head, eyes still closed and heavy with sleep, when her eyes were in turn uncovered, Abeles looked up and caught her breath. They were standing in an open space. To the left stood a great mound, covered with a sward of grass as green as any emeralds and coated in a fine misting of dew. Upon it, as a double crown, grew two circles of trees: the outer had the bark of a sandy brown color, and were covered in sharp needles of pine but still held beauty in their water logged droopiness; the trees farther in were mallorn-trees of great height, still arrayed in pale gold even though winter was still close to setting in. High amid the branches of a towering tree that stood in the glen—mist and fog covering the hill—snaked between the gaps in the trees. At the feet of the trees, and all about the green hillsides the grass was studded with small golden shapes like stars, so many crystals graces, and vivid purple forget-me-nots. Overall the sky was slate grey, and the sun had been hidden in the dark grey clouds. 

Maraas spoke to Scout Harding and Damen put Abelas down. Abelas walked to the end of the camp, the jutting lip overlooking a turbulent sea, and she used the little fence that had been placed there so many years ago to climb slightly and look down at the sandy beach. The wind tugged at her hair and she looked all around her. She had never seen an  _ ocean _ before. She had been told of it, but she had never  _ seen _ it. She heard someone come up behind her and she turned to see Varric coming to look out with her as well. He smirked at her and leaned on the fence. The sky was still misting down on the them, but the looming clouds far off in the distance spoke wordlessly of the coming storm.

“Kirkwall is on the other side of that water, kiddo.” Varric told her. She looked at him as he pointed in what she assumed was where Kirkwall lied. She squinted her eyes at the far off horizon and the grey mist that covered it. If there  _ was _ anything on the other side of that thick grey curtain it wasn’t something that she could see. She wondered if you had to be on the point of no return to see the vague outline of your destination.

“Are you sure?” she asked. The wind picked up as she set her feet—wrapped in thick cloth since she had forgone the shoes that hurt her fee—the soaking wet earth seeped into the cloth and made her feet damp. It felt a little like  _ home _ .

Varric chuckled, “I’m sure. Cassandra put me on a boat and we landed in a town called Denerim. That’s far from here, but, the city is still in the Free Marches and they are on the other side of all this water.”

“It is a big lake.” Abelas agreed. Varric gave a smokey laugh and lead her from the looking point to stand near their companions once more. Solas and Damen spoke of the rifts and how best to seal them. Maraas had a scowl on her face. She only wanted to find The Iron Bull and his Chargers and be back to Haven. The worries of the land could be taken care of at a later date. Abelas kicked at the damp earth with the tips of her toes and looked farther down the path that lead away from camp. 

Murky white sand creeped up the hill from the rocky shore below them. Maraas and Solas snipped and snapped at each other and Abelas slowly picked her way through wet earth and damp sand to the slippery rocks on the shore. The waves came in and out and in and out. She looked at them as they raced to her toes and then stopped, suddenly, before they touched her and then they went back into the dark blue water from where they came. The foam trailed after them. She felt her nose begin to bleed and she looked down not at sea water and foam but at an icy trail. She looked up as the ocean before froze, waves caught in mid lift, the current halted. 

“ _ Banal nadas. _ ” the voices hissed out, sounding like bugs crawling inside of her ears. She felt a shiver run up her spine. 

Time  _ itself _ was freezing and snow was falling down around her. She held out her hand, the mark twisting harshly in her palm. A flake landed on the mark and she knew that it was not snow but  _ soot _ from a large fire. She looked to the forest and saw that black flames licked and swept up the trees while the ashes and soot danced in the howling winds. She looked at the distant horizon, no longer grey but red as blood. Her nose was bleeding so much but she was afraid to move as the ice gave a loud  **CRACK** and it broke away like an egg shell. A large mirror—the same mirror as before—when she spoke to Fen’harel, loomed high as any mountain. 

“ _ Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din. _ ” a new voice, older, softer, almost motherly whispered into her ear next and it brought her no comfort. The words were lost to her, but she could understand well enough. These words were meant to inspire  _ fear _ . Even when spoken with a loving tone to whomever heard them, these were words of fear. And she  _ was _ afraid. 

The mirror itself seemed to lurch and bend down to her and she watched as images flashed before the smooth surface. So many bodies burned and possessed by demons, the dead, rotting and limping on massive battlefields. Cities falling from the sky. Then a wide river flowing through a populous city. A white fortress with seven towers, each one falling and crumbling as the sky rained down molten fire. A ship with black sails, stuck in a frozen ocean like the one before her, the ice rippled with light and a banner flapped from above those black sails. She didn’t know what was on it, for it began to burn in the wind.

The next voice that spoke was a voice she heard once before, a voice she had heard when the hands had grabbed her from the other mirror, the only voice that had stood out. It was the voice of a king—a cruel and evil man—but a king. His voice spoke next, booming and loud, making her ears ring as the words ran her over, “ _ Ellasin selah! _ ” 

A smoke as of fire and battle arose, the sun setting down in a blaze of black fire, the horizon burning as the sun brushed past it. The suns faded into a grey mist and into the mist a small ship passed away with twinkling lights. She felt like she should know that ship. Suddenly the mirror went altogether dark, as if a hole had opened in the world of sight and she gazed into the emptiness. In the black abyss there came a small whimper of pain and she tried to back away but a set of clawed hands shout out with a cry of anger, the glass cracking as they smashed into it. The nails dragged down and an unholy shriek seemed to rock the whole world. Abelas was rooted in fear before it. 

She watched as twin eyes appeared, so terrible was it that she was unable to cry out or even try to back away again. The eyes were rimmed with fire—green as the Fade—but the eyes themselves were glazed, yellow as a wolf's eye, watchful and intent and the black silt of its pupil glowed with an inner blacklight. It was like gazing into a pit, a slitted window into the vast  _ nothingness _ . Then the eyes began to rove and search this way and that, the hellish light coming from them seeming to heat the whole of the world they gazed on it. Abelas knew with certainty and horror that among the many things that it sought she was one of them, and yet it could not see her. The mark upon her hand burned and snapped and made her ears ring. Her hand grew heavier and heavier, her shoulder creaking in pain, as though it was being pulled down by a pride demon. 

A voice from the mirror came, twisted and wrong, full of evil and held it little love for anything other than itself, “ _ Telanadas. Vir sumeil _ .” 

She felt like she was falling forward. The mirror seemed to be growing hot and curls of steam snarled out toward her as the ice melted and the ocean rushed up to her. She was slipping forward and then her mouth was full of salt water and her lungs burned. She closed her eyes as the water burned them. She opened her mouth in a gasp and the water was gone for a moment, air rushing in and then water came again. Some slipped down into her throat and down into a lung. And it  _ hurt _ . 

Something grabbed her and she was pulled out, coughing and wheezing as large arms held her and a large hand rubbed her back harshly, slapping it lightly. She blinked the water from her eyes and the grey skin around her middle was a welcome sight. She wiped her eyes and then looked down at the arm again. The hand was  _ wrong _ . It was missing fingers. She frowned and turned her head. It was a Qunari but it wasn’t Maraas. 

She saw a silver eyepatch, a scarred face, and green eye. She blinked slowly at him and then she slapped him. He dropped her, or rather, her feet landed on the ground went he let her go and she stumbled away before turning, drawing her small knife, holding it both hands and her body shaking from the cold. It had begun to rain. The Qunari didn’t even rub his cheek, but he did laugh. When he stood up from his crouch he was very tall. Taller than  _ Maraas _ . 

She swallowed around her salt burned throat and tried to back away. The rocks made her feet slippery. She watched him. She heard her name—faintly—on the wind. She felt her ears turn to the noise and the Qunari and his ears did the same. He turned to look at the path. She risked a look as well. She was so  _ far _ from where she had been. 

Where was she? She looked back at the male Qunari who had crossed his arms and smiled at her. She glared at him and he laughed again. He got down on one knee held up both of his massive hands. She looked at him for a long time and she lowered the knife.

“...elas!” Maraas called out, her voice getting closer but it was still far away. Abelas turned to the noise and then went back to the male Qunari. She put her knife away, turned her back to the man who had saved her, and cupped her hands over her mouth to call out. 

“ _ Tama! I’m over here! _ ” her voice was carried on by the wind. The voices became louder and as she was about the call out again she was grabbed by the other Qunari and pulled back. And arrow landed where she used to be standing. He put her down behind him and drew his weapon, he gripped it tightly in his hands. 

“Chargers! Battle positions!” he bellowed out. A large group jumped out from hiding it seemed and mages in battle armor rained down on them. She took a step back and she felt bark on her back. She looked over her shoulder and saw a fallen tree, and a hollow in it. She climbed into the hollow and ducked down. She covered her ears and closed her eyes. 

She could feel the magic fly by her over her head and then she heard the snarl of Maraas which caused her to lift her head to see the fight. Damen and Solas and the other mages flung spells back and forth. Varric gave them cover fire and Maraas was slicing through her foes with only two swings a piece. Swing, hit, smash, crash, clang, clang, clang, swing, swoosh, clang, the twinkle of chainmail. The noises seemed to rise up around her and the world narrowed down to the fighting, everyone moving slowly like she was looking at it from a painting instead of it happening right in front of her. The noises even seemed to echo and  _ elongate _ in her ears. She raised her mark hand and felt the power well up inside of her like a storm.

It began to rain in earnest, the sky growling and bellowing out is displeasure. The words that left her mouth were not her own, but they were powerful. Black fire sprang out, twisting out like a snake and slamming into the heavy barrier that the mage in the far back had cast up. She didn’t know why, but she knew that he was the most powerful enemy mage on the field. The black fire burned away the barrier like a strand of hair and ate him alive even faster. He didn’t even have time to scream. She lowered her hand, and time sped back up, no one it seemed the wiser for what she had done. 

The battle was over quickly after that. She climbed down from the tree, her wet and soaking clothing clutching onto her skin. She made her way over to Maraas, who breathed heavily as she scanned the area. Abelas waited as she put her weapon away and then turned to look down at her. Abelas ducked her head at the very dissapointed look she was given. She shuffled forward and Maraas bent down to one knee and gripped her chin between two grey fingers and made Abelas look her in the eye. Maraas turned her head right and left slowly and then she sighed heavily before pulling her into a crushing hug and peppering her face with kisses. Damen and Solas hung back with Varric. Varric gave a chuckle as he wiped Bianca off. Damen looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“The kid almost died and she’s getting  _ kisses _ . Maraas is good with her. The terror the kid felt will keep her close by the  **next** time she wants to wander off.” 

The very large male Qunari came to stand by them, arms crossed over his barrel chest. Damen felt his mouth water and he looked down at his feet instead. He would take one look at Damen and know that he was from Tevinter. The male Qunari gave a light chuckle, “I know that feeling. Being smothered in kisses and then getting your ear twisted until it almost comes off. She’ll be alright though. She doesn’t look like the kind of Tama to smack her kids. That silent treatment works  _ just _ as good and twice as fast.” 

“Maraas is good to Abelas.” Damen said softly. 

“So that kid is the Herald, huh? To think a swan dive into the sea almost killed her.” 

Damen blinked up at the large Qunari near him, “Swan dive?” 

“Yeah. Kid was running down the coast line like something was chasing her, nose bleeding and eyes wild. She tripped a few times, looked at the ocean and then took a running jump into an incoming wave. Does she have something  _ wrong _ with her? I heard she was in the Fade with all that demon crap.” 

“She has been having some problems.” Damen said softly. The male Qunari only nodded his head and then moved away, telling his boys to stand down. As he talked to his men for a short moment Maraas walked over to him, her large hand enclosing the smaller hand of Abelas. Damen and the others moved to stand beside her. A show of force where none was needed, or he hoped so at least. When he saw Maraas he gave her a simple nod and then he looked down at Abelas and blinked his one good eye at her for a long, long, moment. He burst into laughter so loud that Damen jumped at the sound of it. He spoke through his laughter to Maraas. 

“Hot damn it’s true!” he crowed, his head shaking back and forth in mirth. Maraas only raised a single eyebrow at him as he did so, “Oh, the Chantry must  _ love _ you! A Qunari mercenary and her tiny baby  _ elfing _ ! A baby who is the Herald of Andraste! Who’d’a thought?” 

Maraas gave a put upon a sigh and then spoke to him in her even and very motherly way. It was a nice way of showing people she was not a nice women by design, but rather a woman who demanded your respect and would willing give you respect in return, “ _ Shenedan, Sten. _ ” 

The other Qunari gave a low sound of unease and held up his hands, “Yeah, let’s try and keep  _ that _ to a minimum. Makes the boys twitchy.” he used his horns to point Maraas to a less populated spot and she let Abelas go with a look in her direction. Abelas held the edges of her cloak but let her go. She shuffled over to Damen, cold and tired. He picked her up and tucked her in close to his chest. She gave a low sniffle and wiped under her nose. Damen rocked back and forth and rubbed her where his hands could reach, trying to warm her. She let her head rest over his heart. Damen looked over to where the two Qunari were speaking to each other, their voices lost in the surf and rain. The man who had come to Haven—another one of his former country men—walked over and inclined his head toward Maraas and his boss. 

“You’re lady?” he asked him in Tevene. 

“My friend.” he answered back in their mother tongue. 

The man looked him up and down and then asked, “Altus?” 

“Not anymore.” Damen told him with the shake of his head. 

“Then you can count me as a friend, too. Name’s Krem.” he stuck out his hand to be shook. 

“Damen.” he said and shook the hand of a man who had once been several rungs below his class—and Damen felt free, knowing he was no longer collared by the old rules he had once lived by. 

“The Chief is a good man.” 

“Maraas is a good woman. She’s a better fighter.” 

“A good mother too?” 

“Abelas wouldn’t love her so much if she wasn’t.” 

Krem gave a snort, “Children love the people who take care of them. They love the people who  _ abuse _ them too. They don’t know the difference until it’s too late.” with that he moved away, since the male Qunari had sat down on a rock and had made a move for him to come closer. Damen watched him go and hoped that they would leave soon. Abelas might get sick in the rain. 

Maraas followed the male Qunari, the one who called himself The Iron Bull, and looked him over. He was a soldier—trained and bred under the Qun—she had seen his type. Sharp mind, from the way he talked to the way he dressed. She kept a grip on her sword as he sat down on a rock and looked at her. He waved his hand and his man, the one who had come to Haven to fetch them, came toward them, easy but with a soldier's gait to his steps. Once the smaller man was near them The Iron Bull spoke to her.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.” he said with a smirk on his scared face. 

Cremisius gave her a polite bow of his head, “Nice to see you again.” he turned back to The Iron Bull, “Throat Cutters are done, chief.” 

The Iron Bull looked at his lieutenant with a narrowed eye, “Already? Have ‘em check  _ again _ . I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.” he chuckled as he said the last part. 

Krem crossed his arm and gave a very mocking smirk back at his commanding officer. He then gave a slight shrug and said with a very snotty tone in his voice, “None taken. At least a  _ bastard _ knows who his mother is.” Krem then turned with a very flippant gesture toward the Iron Bull and said over his shoulder as he walked away, “Puts hims one up on you  _ Qunari _ , right?”

She clicked her tongue and The Iron Bull gave a sheepish smile at her. She was not amused and he could tell. He cleared his throat and began to speak, “So...you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive but worth it; and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

She had not trusted any of her former brothers or sisters since leaving the Qun almost fifteen years ago, she was not going to start now. She had a much more precious life to live for then her own, “How much is this going to cost me, exactly?” 

The Iron Bull tried to make light of her question, “Wouldn’t cost  _ you _ anything personally. Unless you wanna buy drinks later.” Maraas scowled at him and he held up his hands in front of him, as though to ward off her anger. He had no idea to wrath she held inside of her, how easily she could kill and feel not even a drop of sorrow for the life she had taken. She knew he could do the same and that was why she didn’t want his witty banter, she wanted the truth, “Your ambassador—what’s her name?—Josephine? We’d go through her and get a payments set up. The gold will take care of itself, don’t worry about that. All that matters is that we’re  _ worth _ it.” 

She turned her head to look at his men. She counted them. Seventeen humans, men and women of all sizes. Thirty elves, mostly women with scars on their faces and bodies held tense. Survivors. About twenty dwarves that she could see. She gripped her weapon hilt a little tighter in her hand and she looked back at him, “The Chargers seem like an excellent company.” 

He said,” They are.” and his voice was full of fatherly pride and he stood up from the rock and walked a little closer to her, “But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting  _ me _ . You need a frontline bodyguard. I’m your man. Whatever it is—demons? Dragons?—the bigger the better. And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?” 

Maraas felt her blood run cold. She could feel her heart try to jump into her throat and out of her mouth. She felt every  _ inch _ of her being shiver and freeze like she was caught in an ice rune from an enemy mage. She grabbed her chest and tried to breath. She could hear him speaking to her and she slapped his hand away. He called for Damen but everything was so far away. The scar on her stomach, her lower stomach—always hidden by her pants—burned like fire. They had taken her last child and left her with a scar, and he had  **_suffered_ ** . 

He had been a mage. She felt her world narrow down into a black dotted tension. She felt herself fall into the rocky sand. She could heard a child screaming at her. _ Tama. Tama. _ She closed her eyes and covered her ears. She felt a small hand touch her and she lashed out, her hand, the claws sharp and deadly, stopping in front of those wide golden eyes. She was crying. 

She  _ had _ a child. 

She crushed Abelas close, the smell of salt water and the baby softness of the smaller body. She could kill this small child she loved so much. She was too large, too strong. But she was never strong enough. She pulled her face away from the sea stiffened hair and looked at the Iron Bull. She stood, holding Abelas close, and wiped her eyes. He looked remorseful. 

She settled Abelas on her back and looked him in the eye. “I was once a Tamassran under the Qun. I  **know** who and what you are. Heed me, Sten. I will  _ end _ you if you betray us. And I will enjoy every second of your agony in doing so. So heed my words. I don’t speak them in jest.” 

He nodded his head in understanding, “The Ben-Hassrath are just concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble  _ everywhere _ . I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send report back on what’s happening.” 

“So why would I let you come so close? To endanger my only living child?” Maraas snapped at him. 

Iron Bull shook his head, “No. That’s not all I’m going to do. I also get report from all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share with them your people.” 

Maraas shook her head and began to pace. She noticed that Damen and the other had drawn closer, hovering only a foot or two away. She turned to glare at him, “Why would you  _ admit _ it? Why admit to being Ben-Hassrath?” 

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s  _ bad _ . Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So  _ whatever _ I am, I’m on your side.” 

Abelas was the one who spoke this time, “You still could have lied. Why didn’t you?” 

Iron Bull smiled at her and she kept a frown her very small face, “From something called the _ ‘Inquisition?’ _ I would have been had sooner or later. Better you heard it from the horse's mouth. Or the bull's mouth, I suppose.” 

Maraas began to bite her nails. But he was  _ right _ . They needed the help. A company this large plus the soldiers. She felt her thumb nail release, the base feeling lighter and odder from once being so long to suddenly being so short. She spit the severed nail head away and turned to him, her face smooth and unreadable once more. She stood tall, “You run your reports past me and then Leliana. You don’t send a  _ single _ fucking letter without my permission. If this is a trick or you compromise the Inquisition, I will eat you alive. Don’t make me regret this.” 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,  _ Tama _ .” 

Maraas stiffened at the name and then brushed past him, moving back toward camp. Abelas would get sick again in this rain. She didn’t want her small one to get sick again. The Chargers stayed with them in camp that night. Maraas kept Abelas close to her, tucker safely into the hollow space under arm. Iron Bull kept his distant as well as he could. Damen kept looking at her and she waved him off. Nails grew back. 

It would be sharp again in no time. Abelas wiped at her nose, red and dry. Marass soon bid them goodnight and ducked into their appointed tent, dry thanks to the spells of Damen and Solas. She made sure that Abelas wore the spare socks she had packed for herself. Abelas, being Dalish, had never worn them before. She took them well enough, for they kept her small feet, ankles, knees, and a good portion of her upper thighs warm under her warm sleeping gown that Maraas had packed for her. That night they heard no noises and Abelas had no dreams. 

No shadows came to haunt her with a play in which she was a deaf and blind onlooker. Maraas instead was haunted by her former demons that night. A sweet singing in her mind, a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain and growing stronger to turn the veil to glass and silver until at last it rolled back and far darker country opened before her under a swift and sudden black sun. She was once more under the yoke of the Qun and she felt her heart shatter and tighten all at once in her chest. The vision melted into waking as Damen called softly to her that it was almost time to leave once more for Haven. She woke Abelas and dressed her. She was not sick but she did look very tired. Maraas knew she did as well. 

As they set out on the road the Iron Bull whistled like a tree full of birds. The rain had passed in the night and no new clouds had come to cover their brothers absence. Everything was green and pale gold. Abelas ran between them all. Safe in a group so large on the road. Maraas looked upon Abelas, sweet and happy and healthy. She had raised many children in 40 years of life, but Abelas was her child to love with all of her heart. 

The Qun be damned.

************

Solas was ready to  _ strangle  _ Falon’Din as his brother laughed and laughed at him. He was grinding his teeth as Falon’Din floated in the air above him, clutching at his stomach. Solas took a deep breath, “Are you done?” 

“You were  _ wrong _ .” Falon’Din crowed as he moved around Solas through the Fade. 

Solas sneered up at Falon’Din, “I am not  _ wrong.  _ I can prove that she will be like you. The power will corrupt her,  _ in time.”  _

Falon’Din gently floated down and landed on the tips of his toes, “So I have to wait for you to be right? The girl might be a woman grown by then.” 

“And she might have killed the world by then.” 

“You think so?” Falon’Din chuckled, “From what you have shown me today, she could have all the power in world and she would still be too afraid of herself to do  _ anything  _ with it.” 

“I can prove this, Falon’Din. All I need to make her truly afraid, make her  _ want  _ to use her powers of her own free will.” 

Falon’Din clicked his tongue, “It isn’t free will if you  _ force  _ her, Solas.” 

“Fear forces people to  _ act _ .” Solas snapped at him. 

“From what I have seen,” Falon’Din sighed and placed his feet properly on the ground, “children cry and run away when they get scared. Not lash out in  _ anger _ . Unless they are caught and they knew their lives are at risk.” 

Solas glared at him, his teeth gritted behind his lips and then gave his brother a menacing smirk, “Maybe I’ll do  _ that _ then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telanadas=nothing is inevitable  
> Vir sumeil=we are close  
> Ellasin selah!=According to the official WIKI this has no meaning but I have decided to make it mean Murderous Wretch  
> Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din=Speak you rebel. You triumph over nothing.Your pride will be your death  
> Banal nadas=Nothing is inevitable


	8. Reeling in Redcliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that future actually belong to someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ataashi-bas maraas=A glorious thing is nothing.

Meeting up with Orta and the others had Damen and Abelas all but singing for joy. At least until Abelas saw Blackwall. She looked at him for a long time and then asked, “Are you a Grey Warden?” 

He had told her, “Yes.”

She had only nodded and said, “I don’t think so. You have too much color in your beard, you should be called a  _ Black _ Warden instead.” This had sent the Iron Bull and his Chargers into a fit of muffled snickers. They had continued on to Haven, stopping at night and leaving in the early dawn hours. With such a big group they were left untouched on their way back to Haven. Abelas was excited as they came to last three miles before Haven, chattering away about how Cullen had promised her that he would teach her how use a shield and how to get the old mare to  _ trot _ . 

It was Blackwall—it seemed—who didn’t mind the constant noise, like Maraas. Orta did  _ not _ . She liked the kid, she did. But the constant noise of a small child trying to get every word out in between loud gasps of breaths was testing her last nerve. She snapped as they came upon the last mile of the trip. 

“ **SHUT UP ALREADY!”** Orta yelled so loudly that her voice echoed and it caused the group to look at her with mixed faces of surprise and stern disappointment. Abelas snapped her mouth shut and Maraas looked at Orta with a very harsh look. Orta didn’t care. She had been on the road fighting every step of the way. Abelas was too little to fight and was most likely the only one in the group who had gotten full nights of  _ sleep _ and hadn’t had to fight. Orta did not have that option. 

She did not begrudge Abelas her lot in life, but Orta was a warrior who was too tired to be nice to the small girl. Let Maraas love and shield the girl, Orta was not her mother or her clanmate. She was  _ nothing _ to the girl. The girl was  _ nothing _ to her. She was silent the rest of the trip and she could feel the angry stares on her. She didn’t care. The world was ending, the holy leader of the human race was dead, and no one seemed to know  _ anything _ about it. 

When they got to Haven, everyone went their own ways. The sun was low in the sky as they parted ways. Blackwall and Bull went with Maraas to meet Leliana and Josephine. Abelas ran off to go and bother Cullen about the horse. Sera and Orta went to the tavern. Damen went to speak with Vivienne. Sera gave a low snort of anger at Orta. Orta drank from her cup of ale and gave her a glare. Sera had a scowl on her face. 

“ _ What _ ?” Orta asked with a snap. 

“Ya didn’t have to  _ snap _ at her. She’s a kid, yeah? Kids are  _ loud _ and dirty. They ain’t dolls you can make talk and shite when ya want them to.” Sera told her and Orta could feel her face twist into a scowl. She  _ knew _ that. Abelas was a kid who had gone through a lot. She just took a deep drink of her ale and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The bard was singing softly in the corner. Orta gave Sera a level look, and Sera gave her a frown. 

“ _ Look _ ,” Orta said to Sera, “I know that. The kid is a  **kid** .  **I get that.** She lost her whole family. This is a nice way for her to be kind of normal. But she  _ isn’t _ normal. She can tear open holes and seal rifts. 

“She survived a  _ mountain _ being leveled. She isn’t  **normal** , Sera. And that means shite if going to get  _ worse _ . And if I care too much when things get  _ worse _ , then it won’t matter that I cared about her at  _ all _ , does it?” she got up from her chair and went to find her cot in the inn. She didn’t  _ want _ to care about the kid, even though she did  _ care _ . Damnit she cared. 

As Orta and Sera talked in the tavern, Maraas and Cullen were trying to stop a fight happening in front of the Chantry. Mages and Templars. The former circle mages snapping at the Templars, and the Templar snapping back, hands tight on their weapons and voices raised. Cullen was in the middle, trying to break them up. As they settled into loud grumbles when Maraas came into view—Abelas trotting at her heels—she looked at them with narrowed eyes. She was still angry at Orta from yelling at Abelas. Before she could ask what was wrong, the man from the Chantry—Roderick—was there trying to place doubt into everyone. 

She sneered at him and Abelas went to Cullen, holding his hand in her much smaller one. Roderick returned her sneer and they traded jabs at each other, Cullen came to stand next to her and support her. Abelas stood between them. She looked tired and forlorn. As they yelled back and forth in civil tones, never getting louder than an octave above speaking, Roderick looked down at Abelas and said with a haughty tone, “She might have  _ fooled _ the Chantry in the capital, but she doesn’t fool  _ me _ . More of a  **burden** than a herald.” 

“ _ Hold your tongue! _ ” Cullen snapped and moved Abelas behind his legs, hidden in his cloak, and the Templars and mages who hadn’t moved away from their own argument, moved in closer, hands and faces pinched in anger. Maraas could see the sun shining from where metal peeked out. 

“Hold  _ my _ tongue?” Roderick snapped and pointed an angry finger at where Abelas was trying to hide behind Cullen, “You, _ all of you _ !” he glared at them all who had taken their side, even turning to glare at the small camps behind him, who glared right back. Leliana had her arms crossed as she watched from her own spy tent, “You let this  _ child _ —this bastard of  **blasphemy** —walk around and claim to be a savior sent by the Maker and his holy bride! She is an elf, a  _ savage _ elf at that! Her caretaker is a  _ Qunari _ ! The other two are a  _ mage _ and a  _ thief _ respectfully and all of you heretics do not even think to  _ question _ it!” 

“Who are  _ you _ to say what the Maker has planned?” Cassandra called out as she stormed up the steps toward them. Blackwall was behind her, his face pink and red with suppressed anger. On the trip back he had let Abelas ride on his back and he told her stories. She had been fascinated by the Grand Tourney. Varric had made jokes after each story which she had been unaware of. Blackwall had chuckled at each and she smiled regardless of the fact that she didn’t understand the dirty jokes traded between the two men. Maraas had been grateful that Abelas was too young yet to know what the jokes meant.

Roderick turned to Cassandra, his face in profile to them, “The only person who is even  _ remotely _ qualified to judge this!” 

“Says who?” Maraas snapped. 

“The Chantry. The only  **authority** that matters!”

Cullen drew his sword, anger and rage written across his face. Maraas shot her hand out and gripped the sword—the metal biting into her hand—blood swelling to the surface and weeping down the metal. She jerked the sword to point at the ground. Cullen looked at her, face a mix of horrified and rage. She shook her head and looked at Roderick, “She is a  **_child_ ** . If nothing else, she is a child and she does not need  _ you _ to belittle her.” 

“We shall see.” Roderick sniffed and walked away. Maraas let go of the sword, her hand throbbing with pain. She pressed her thumb into the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. Cullen moved toward her and took out his handkerchief, wrapping it around the wound. She looked down at her hand, the blood soaking into the cloth. She could see the tiny face of Abelas looking up at her. 

She had lost so much in so little a time. If there was a higher power, couldn’t they have chosen someone  _ else _ to be their champion? She waved Cullen away and picked Abelas up to place her on Cullens shoulders. He held her ankles in his hands. His face was still stormy. The Mages and Templars put away their weapons and had seemed to cool their anger at each other for the moment. She smiled at both Cullen and Abelas. 

“You promised her a pony, Cullen. “ Maraas said, “Or something about teaching her how ride one better?” 

Cullen gave her a look, his lips thinning before speaking slowly, “Yes. I did.” 

Blackwall and Cassandra had come to stand with them and Blackwall looked at the wound on her hand and then at Cullen, crossing his arms, “A pony for a herald of the Maker? She should be a on a proper war horse, learning how to joust or fire arrows.” 

“She’s  _ six _ .” Cullen said. 

“I learned how ride a war horse at  _ five _ .” Blackwall said and put his hand on Cullens shoulder blade, leading him away to the stables, “If an old Warden with not a single thing to his name can learn so young, a lady like her can. Between the two of us we should be able to teach her in no time. Then we can move on to weapons and armor.” 

“She’s  **_six_ ** .” Cullen said again with a sigh. 

Abelas spoke up as the left within earshot, “I’m almost seven!” 

Maraas nodded to Cassandra and said she would go to see Solas, who had said he had found a nice little hut on the hill past Haven. It was full of medical supplies and he was taking stock of it all. Trying to help out he said. Maraas doubted that, but she didn’t pry. She moved to the hut, saying it was to get her hand repaired with magic so she could continue to help spread word of the Inquisition and not lose her primary fighting hand. Once she was in the woods, some safe spot between the hut and Haven she leaned heavily against a tree, her undamaged hand covering her eyes. Her hair fell onto her shoulder, coming loose from its tight braid. Things had gone so  _ wrong _ . 

She let her legs give under her, her figure kneeling in the snowy and wet ground under the pine tree she had chosen to fall on. A profound pang of loss and grief tore through the very  _ core _ of Maraas’ spirit. She  **cursed** the legacy of humankind, that fear should ever drive out reason and set the world awry. Her cry rang out over the desolation of cold stone and along the dark pines but it could not summon what had passed forever. Abelas was  _ losing _ her childhood. She didn’t know how long she cried but when she wiped her tears away, Solas was there to help her up and he healed her hand. He did not ask  _ why _ and she did not tell him. 

They made their way back to Haven and into the Chantry to eat dinner with the rest of the inner circle. Orta was not there. But Maraas didn’t expect her to be either. Cullen and Blackwall bickered like children over types of armor and weapons to give Abelas when was seven. She had hay in her hair. Maraas let her alone. She looked so  **_happy_ ** . Dinner was not that wonderful. 

She didn’t mind. She told Cullen as dinner was cleared away and Abelas was told stories by Blackwall of his time in the Grand Tourney, that she would return the makeshift bandage to him as soon as it was clean. He thanked her and said that there was no rush to have it returned to him. She smiled at him and he smiled at her, a blush high on his cheeks. 

*************

The day had been cool and pleasant, the clouds casting cool shadows over the sands. The river was clear and crisp and as the servant girl walked down the ivory steps to take up a bucket of water for the cook, she could see the horizon and the endless sky beyond it. As she walked into the water, her feet curling into the soft mud below them, she lowered the ornate bucket that had been given to her to fill with the water so clear is was like a mirror. As the water rushed in she looked up as something moved  _ under _ the water and towards her. A  _ million _ somethings. She dropped the ornate bucket as she backed away and onto the stairs, before running as the poison frog from the forest beyond the desert sand, crawled out of the once clean water. She screamed the whole way back inside the stately home. 

In another part of the city, a man watched as his bread turned to ash and mold. Cattle and halla died with low moans before farmers eyes and a loud hissing wave of insects came from the north, descending on the city and eating everything that they could. A sick mist curled through the city as night fell, and all within prayed for the mist to leave them in peace. Prayed to the gods to  **stop** . Their prayers went unanswered even as fire rained down from the sky. So many died  **_screaming_ ** .

Abelas woke up with a scream, twisting and smacking the air around her as she fell from the bed and onto the stone floor. She pushed her face into the cool stone, her tears hot and sticky on her face. She felt large and warm hands on her small stomach and lift her up, she was placed onto a large chest, soft and firm. She was tucked back under the blankets, the warm hand rubbing up and down her back helped her as she coughed and cried into the tender neck. Fire red hair hid her from seeing the low burning candle. 

“What was the dream this time, my little one?” 

“I  _ killed _ people, Tama!” Abelas hiccuped, “I-I-I-I  _ killed _ so many people! I killed  _ everything _ they held dear, I destroyed everything and I didn’t feel  _ bad _ about it!” 

Maraas shushed her and she began to rock, trying to soothe her child. When dawn came, Cullen took Abelas with him for the morning drills, as Josephine said that she would watch her as well. Maraas was grateful. Once she and Cassandra were done mapping out their next objectives, namely finishing up The Hinterlands and starting on The Storm Coast. Cullen had left a report of missing soldiers as well. Maraas had not lived in the south for a long time, but she did know that a mire was a nice way to say a swamp. And swamps held sick water, or at least this one did. 

It had once been the sight of a plague. Maraas would look into the swamp once the Storm Coast was at least taken care of in term of camps. As she went to find Orta she saw Solas, looking up at the Breach. She walked over to him, coming to stand next to him, looking up at the Breach as well. She crossed her arms over her chest. He was using his staff to lean and support his weight. She collected her thoughts. 

“Abelas is having worse dreams. Ever since we came back from the coast.” she told him softly, not looking away from the Breach. 

“I noticed.” Solas said softly, not looking at her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and then went back to looking at the Breach, “I was wondering if the mark on her hand would have any  _ other _ negative impacts on her health than the mark making her hand hurt.” 

“Do dreams cause health problems?” she asked. She knew that they could. But this was caused by magic of an unknown source not a scary story told too soon to a child too small. She hoped that the cure was the same. A few weeks of staying up very late for a small body, full of warm milk and a soothing voice until the mind settled into an uneasy alliance with whatever trauma it felt that it had suffered. But Abelas had  _ suffered _ . 

Her mind was either too strong and the nightmares were the marks way of trying to break her down, or the horrors she had seen had finally caught up to her and she could no longer hold back the tide of feelings that wanted to pull her down into the inky blackness of anger and resentment that would poison her into being a bitter soul with no feeling. 

“Nightmares can.” he answered, “If she doesn’t sleep, her mind will suffer from it. Her body as well. She will start to see and hear things that are not there. Or at least, things that have long since past.” 

“She keeps having dreams of killing people. Like she is some god of death.” 

Solas looked at her and she looked at him, his face a blank slate and she waited. He then gave a low incline of his head, “I will look into this. On the next away mission, leave her with me. I will try and stop the nightmares.”

Maraas only nodded her head, “I will. Thank you. It will ease my mind to know she is here instead of with me in the heart of battle.” 

********

As Maraas left a few weeks later, she took with her the Lady Seeker and the Iron Bull. Madame Vivienne came as well to help settle with last of the fighting in The Hinterlands. The Dragon was a pressing issue and Maraas would not let it continue to rampage. Damen was going to the coast in order to start making headway. He took Sera, Blackwall and Varric with him. Orta had not shown her face nor spoken to any of them—save Sera and Damen—since she snapped at Abelas. Maraas would deal with it when she got back. 

Abelas waved farewell to them as they left Haven. She was tired, leaning on Cullen as she waved goodbye in the dense winter morning fog. Her eyes were dull and dark like midnight shadows. She had taken to just sitting with Vivienne and being told how one behaved in court. It was not something which required much movement and her small body was so  _ weak _ . She still kept trying to learn to fight and ride a horse proper, but Cullen and Blackwall had pulled back. Maraas rode out with a heavy heart. 

Cassandra and Vivienne talked about the late Divine on the trip, and as she listened she could see how these woman commanded so much respect. Iron Bull kept his distance for the most part and Maraas was grateful for that. As they settled into their first camp for the night, Iron Bull helped her collect wood, and pitch the tents. Cassandra set up the fire and Viviene kept their tents warm for the night with a simple spell. As the night went down, and Cassandra and Vivienne retired into their tents and Iron Bull stayed with her to take first watch. 

“Seheron.” he said as he poked the fire to toss up the flames and added another log to it. She looked at him. His missing eye, his leg brace. The missing fingers and too many scars. She kept her back to the fire, watching the tree line, hands tracing the leather bracing on her weapons handle. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” she said softly. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, “Did you lose the eye or your leg there?” 

Bull chuckled, “I lost my eye saving my favorite ‘Vint. You met him, Krem. Lost the eye in a bar fight. Seheron took the fingers and my knee. Or most of it at least.” 

“Par Vollen took my children  _ and _ my freedom.” she said. 

“The Qun isn’t for everyone.” Bull said and popped his knuckles, “I’ve seen people—elves and humans and the like—who left their old lives do well. But  _ us _ ? We can’t leave the Qun, it drives us mad.” 

Maraas turned to fully look at Bull, who looked right at her, their faces blank, “I have been Tal-Vashoth for almost  _ twelve _ years, and I have not lost my mind to any of the rage or anger that The Qun has warned us about.” 

Bull shrugged his shoulder, “ _ Yet _ . I knew guys back in Seheron who were in unit, not really part of The Qun in spirit or mind anymore, but they liked the fight. And then they  _ snapped _ . It didn’t matter that they had been Tal-Vashoth in mind and body but never acted on it, once they did, they never turned back. And once they became like that, there was nothing left to do but end it all.” 

“Then when  _ you _ become a monster,” Maraas said as she stood up, “I will make sure that I end it all. With one sure swipe of my weapon and a  **smile** on face.” 

They didn’t talk anymore the whole trip. At least until they found the dragon and its children. 

***********

Solas was painting. Abelas had been sitting on the bed he had been given, watching him paint on the canvas made of cloth. The cloth had been painted white all over and set to dry, he told her. Now it was easier to paint on. He had used a small stick of charcoal to sketch out the buildings and distant mountains, a thin almost human shape. He wiped his fingers on a paint stained cloth. He left black marks on it and placed it down on the edge of the small table he used to hold all of his paints.

Abelas tilted her head, trying to see what he was going to paint. It looked like lines to her. She kicked her feet as she sat on the bed, watching as he mixed paints on a color pallet checking the color on his skin. He painted the skin color first, and it wasn’t a human. It was an elf! A very small elf with her skin color. She slid off the bed and came to stand next to him. 

He painted desert like mountains but left the middle space open and unpainted. He painted a simple dress of light tan on her, with black hair. She smiled and pointed at the little girl made of wet paint. 

“Is that me?” she asked. 

Solas smiled and kept painting, adding in shadows and layers, “Yes. Your caretaker told me you are having trouble sleeping.” 

Abelas nodded, “Yeah. Nightmares.” 

Solas wiped off his brush and placed it in a small cup of water, taking another smaller brush from the water, drying it off on a clean-ish rag, and took out a new shiny paint, golden but rusted over in color, “She said you think you are death itself. A  _ terror _ upon the land, killing without remorse.” 

Abelas picked at the ends of her shirt, her head bowed, “I  _ saw _ it. Like I was the one who was doing all of it but at the same time it was like I didn’t  _ want _ to do  **ANY** of it. I don’t get it at all.” 

Solas gave a low hum as he added details to a large golden temple, hidden in a watery oasis in the vast desert. He added little black figures in armor, shadows that the eye could see but not make out any details. Their eyes and chest glowed red like the lyrium that had been found at the Conclave, “You are Dalish, yes? Tell me what you know of death, as the Dalish tell it.” 

Abelas narrowed her eyes at Solas, “You said you didn’t  _ like _ the Dalish even though you’re an elf too.” Solas looked down at her and smiled. 

“I do not like how the Dalish  _ pray _ . Or perhaps,” he said as he began to add the glint of sunlight to the armor and the golden temple, “I have spent too long sleeping and the world of the wakeful is too vastly  _ different _ from what I have seen.” 

“What  _ have _ you seen in the Fade?” she asked as she once more took a seat on his bed. Solas gave a low sound as he looked at the oil painting he was working on. 

“Which story would you like to hear? Perhaps it will ease your nightmares while Maraas is gone.” he asked her, “I have seen many wonderful and terrible stories re-enacted by the spirits of the Fade.” 

“Like the City of Salt you told me about?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can you tell me about Fen’harel?”

Solas gave a low chuckle, “What I  _ couldn’t _ tell you.” 

*********

The battle against the dragon was going to be a long one. The camp that lead into the valley had warned them that the small drakes had tried to come in and burn the camp to the ground. The dragon itself was farther in—they hoped—but it had been raging and burning everything it could. Cassandra and Vivienne made a simple battle plan as they looked over the map of the valley. Bull was pacing, eye wide and breathing deep. She understood why. Every Qunari understood.

_ Ataashi _ . 

The Glorious Ones. 

The Qun was full of what should and shouldn’t be done, rules for life. Everything one could imagine. The whole benefits from the work of the group. The group benefits from the work of the individual. The individual benefits from The Qun. Victory is in The Qun, anaan esaam Qun. She held her weapon close to her, the shield an almost empty weight on her back. 

The small body heat absent. She could hear the dragon in the distant. The loud and angry calling that carried for miles. A mother angry at the world, for reason that she understood but could never explain to others. They would leave in the early dawn hours. Stock up on health items. Bull was fine with that. 

He wanted to  _ enjoy _ and savor the battle. She had seen the dragon bones, once when she had been younger. She remembers the skull. Jaw wide open, eyes black and hollow, teeth making a cage of sharp edges. The skull had been as tall as Maraas had been. The horns had been another five feet easily. Dragons and their bones cut a scary image, but she had only ever seen the  _ bones _ . 

A flesh and blood dragon able to fly, snap those teeth and lunge, she wondered if she would be able to kill it. She had given Josephine a letter in the event of her death. She hoped that Damen or Orta would take care of Abelas if Maraas wasn’t able to. She wondered if Cullen would take care of her. When dawn came they set out, the early dew and fog covering their lower halves. They splashed through ankle deep water, at least ankle deep for Cassandra and Vivienne, and then the drakes attacked. Maraas could feel her blood start to sing. She smirked and charged, Bull right next to her. 

They smashed through bone, burned flesh, smashed scaled bodies into harsh rocks. Even a vein of red lyrium was destroyed when Bull tossed a drake into it. When the sun peeked over the ridge they came face to face with the dragon. A wicked yellow thing that gave a dizzying shriek. She watched as those wings spread far and wide, the sun reflecting through the thin vein covered membrane, casting them in a light red shadow. She could feel the cut on her cheek, blood oozing down and onto her chest plate, the shield heavy in her hand, the great axe pinching into her palm. As the dragon lept off the ridge she gave a roar and charged. 

Bull and Cassandra kept pace with her, the shimmering blue light of a spell to shield them let her know that Vivienne was not to far behind them. The dragon was a  **_monster_ ** to fight, it jumped, swept its tail at them, snapped and clawed at them, summoned more of its children to defend it, spit out fire so hot that it made the skin bubble and burn when you dodged it. As it limped away to the top of the ridge, they gave chase. The great dragon—hide weeping blood, bones looking out from the skin that had been torn open—curled into the rocks of the ridge, hissing and snapping at them. She licked the blood off of her lower lip, eyes bright with battle lust. Bull was next to her, eye just as bright. She doesn’t remember the killing blow she deals it, or maybe it was Bull or Cassandra. 

Void, it might even have been Vivienne. All she knows is that the dragon is dead, the blood rushing down the rocks like hot water, the flesh rotting away with a hiss. The bones look just like she remembered them to look. White as sin and large. She looks at Bull and he looks at her.  He grins and tell her,  _ “Ataashi-bas maraas _ .” 

She smiles at him, “ _ Ataashi _ .” 

************

She knew this was a dream. Fen’harel was here, carrying her on his back. The dream was slow, the images shaking and twisting, causing her to see double of everything. The moon above her was so large and bright, the stars  _ twice _ as bright as that. It was like trying to look at the sun. She let her head drop back down on his shoulder, his hair soft on her cheek. She closed her eyes, trying to blink away the light from the moon and stars. 

The movement of walking made her feel so calm. Fen’harel started talking, words long and distorted, like she had gotten hit in the ears. Someone else was speaking with him, walking next to him. She opened her eyes and turned to look at the person who had come to walk with them. They had no face, only the markings of Falon’Din carved into their flesh. The blood that gently fell from the open wounds was gold and it  _ shimmered _ as the moonlight hit it. She turned away from them, and looked in front of them. 

A giant mirror was in front of them. The sun was sinking behind the mountains and the shadows were deepening in the woods, but on and on and on they went. Their path now went into thickets where the dusk had gathered, night came beneath the trees as they walked, and they uncovered silver lamps as they walked past them toward the mirror. Suddenly they came out into the open again and found themselves under a pale evening sky pricked by stars of so many colors that it bled down and down and  **_down_ ** , mixing together until it was nothing but an inky blackness coating the lower half of the sky where the mountains reached up toward the stars, the white snow caps outlining them from one dark slate to the other. There was a wide treeless space before them, running in a great circle and bending away on either side of them, the silver lamps glowing warmly at their ankles. Beyond it was a deep fosse lost in soft shadow the grass upon its brink green and it glowed as if it held within in it an inner light; like the memory of the sun lived inside of it. Further ahead of them rose to a great height the mirror, and encircling it was a golden frame decorated with images of Fen’harel, Falon’Din and Mythal. 

The mirror  was so large that she could not guess its height and it looked to her like a large tower in the early twilight. In the low light the golden frame seemed to be gleaming green and gold and silver, a different color each time she tilted her head to look at it. Fen’harel put her down in front of the mirror and she turned to look at them. She looked at the faceless stranger. 

“Falon’Din?” she asked. The stranger nodded his head and then pointed to his heart, pulling his cloak back to show her the sticky red coated rib cage hiding a still beating heart, a heart that seemed to  _ glow _ . She was dumb struck. He then pointed at her and she looked down, her own heart glowing. 

“What  _ am _ I? What are  _ you _ ?” she asked as she covered her heart. Falon’Din pointed to the mirror and she looked into it. The mirror was a thin slate of silver, and then it seemed to blur and images began to form. She watched it as the image in the mirror took shape. There was a road paved with white stone running on the outer brink of a large city, along this the image went westward and the city seemed to climb up into the sky, like a glittering cloud of silver and gold and magic. 

She watched as Falon’Din and the others stepped into a mirror, more large and grand than the one she was using. It was on the other side of a white bridge and great gates. She knew that to get to this mirror one had to come along many paths and climb along many stairs until it came to the bridge that was guarded by great stone guardians. As the last one entered, Fen’harel slapped his hands together and the mirror broke into a thousand pieces, glass shards falling around him like rain. He bowed his head and tears fell down his face. The image changed and small whisp came from the shards, falling down like stars to the world below. The wisps entered people as they slept or prayed or wept. 

One wisp caught her attention for it seemed familiar to her. She watched as a very old woman, her elven ears dropping on her head, held the wisp in her hand and then put it into her own heart. She watched as the old woman lived a very long time, and then her grandchild got the wisp. Then his daughter who got another wisp, then her son who got another, then his son who in turn also got a wisp, then his great-granddaughter who didn’t want a wisp but accepted it anyway, and then a woman with a very small baby running through the woods, taking a gasping breath, and then she died and the wisp went to the baby and then, and then...Abelas felt her heart stop as a very familiar face came into view. 

“Ashihari.” she breathed. She turned to look at Falon’Din and she heard him speak even though he had no mouth to speak. And she  _ knew  _ that voice. 

“Here is the heart of Elvendom on Thedas, Abelas. And here my heart dwells for as long as the mirror which sealed us is broken. But my spirit is in you. And soon I will leave my prison; all of us will. You shall be another to inherit an age.” he told her. She blinked away tears as Falon’Din leaned down and pressed his foreward into her own, the shimmering golden hair making a curtain between them, his skin was almost black with patches of white all over him. She felt the tears run down her face. 

“What I don’t want to?” she sniffled. 

He cradled her face gently in his hands and spoke to her a riddle, “In hollow halls and shady dells, in oak-woods blue with silver bells. On silent hilltops under cloudy skies—by well and water, stone and rise. By brakes of thorn and hazelnut, the tall gate stands  _ forever shur.”  _

Abelas felt him wipe away her tears and kiss her eyelids. 

***********

Orta watched as Abelas took a running leap to get on her horse. The old nag didn’t even flinch as a very tiny body clutched at her bent back. Abelas tried to swing her leg up and over to sit on her own. Cullen was trying to hide his smile and no doubt laughter. Abelas was scrambling to pull herself up and was failing. She fell down onto the dust with a poof of sand flying off around her. She slapped the ground and got back up. 

She dusted herself off and walked back to her starting point. She had a hard look on her tiny face and once more took off. She didn’t make it again but she did manage to snag her ankle on and over the back of the horse. She tried to pull herself up and then stopped. Out of breath. Orta shook her head. Abelas was an elf and was thin enough to not only mke the jump but swing her leg over as well; but she was child. 

She wouldn’t be able to vault over a horse until she was much older. The horn sounded and Orta looked out at the middle horizon. Damen and the others had come back a few days ago, with horrible news from the marshlands. The troops lived but they wouldn’t be sent back until the Avaar leader fought the Herald of Andraste. He didn’t know that she was only a child and until Maraas had a say, Cullen had kept her close. Damen and Solas were talking as they trained some of the new mages. Cullen had given the troop training over to his SIC so he could help Abelas with her training on horseback. 

As the horn blew and blew, Orta knew that Solas was now on borrowed time. The moment Maraas saw what Abelas looked like, she was going to do  _ much _ worse than Cullen punching him in the face. Abelas ran toward Maraas, her little voice echoing as she ran down the path toward Maraas, excited no doubt to see her caretaker once more. She counted down in her head and then she heard it.  _ Everyone _ in Haven must have heard it. 

“ **SOLAS** !” 

Orta knew that once Maraas saw Solas he was a dead man. He looked up and right at her as she stormed toward him—strides sure and quick—Abelas on her hip. Orta thought the kid didn’t look vastly different. The magic inside of her had done the damage, not Solas. And having half a skull decor on her face wasn’t too bad. But the fact that her right eye was now an inky black color with a red pupil  _ might _ have been the thing that set her off. Solas and Maraas spoke, if Maraas trying not the beat him  _ counted _ as talking. 

Orta turned her attention to her left as Sera gave a loud snorting laugh, clutching her sides as Abelas was put on the ground and Maraas pointed a very sharp clawed finger into the pale face of Solas, her teeth snapping at him. Orta knew why Sera was laughing. She and Solas didn’t get along. Orta didn’t trust him but knew better than to say anything. He was a Fade Mage, the mark on Abelas was from old magic, connected to the Fade which is what the Breach was raining down on them. They  _ needed _ Solas, but that didn’t mean that she had to  _ like _ him or even trust him a whole lot. Cullen came to stand by Maraas, a hand on the top Abelas’ head. Maybe it was because the kid now had a huge streak of whitish silver in her hair on the same side that the new skull ink was on. 

Maraas picked Solas up and  _ shook _ him. Solas didn’t even look too surprised at this. At least he had some balls on him. She turned away and went back to the tavern to drink. She didn’t want to see what a very angry Qunari mother was going to do to some skinny mage. She drank until she couldn’t feel her face. Sera was next her, drinking away. 

The Iron Bull was with his boys, singing and drinking and chasing the wait staff. She knew her limit well enough and called it a night. She almost fell from her chair as she got off of it, and then made her way to the Chantry. She had to use the wall to hold herself up. She fell into her cot, boots still on and face too hot. She was woken up by Leliana, head pounding. Maraas was heading to Red Cliff to speak with the mages, and she was taking Abelas with her. 

Damen wasn’t going with them but with the others. Maraas, Abelas, Iron Bull, Blackwall and herself were going. Cassandra, Vivienne, Sera, Varric and Solas were going to meet the Templars. Whoever had the best offer and would be the most beneficial to the cause of closing The Breach was they were going to throw their support behind. Orta drank a full jug of water and stayed behind to talk to Maraas. She didn’t even get two words in before Maraas looked right at her, eyes tired and mouth set in a scowl, “I don’t want to hear it Orta. We are leaving in  _ three _ days and that’s  **that** . And try to sober up before we leave.”

Orta sneered at her back as she left. They left for The Hinterlands three days later just as planned and Abelas didn’t even look at her. She kept her head down and her mouth shut. Abelas was on a pony with all their supplies. They went out to bring the mages into their fold and nothing was said between them the whole time that they went down the mountain. Iron Bull and Blackwall chatted the whole way. Talking about the girls they had known in different cities, keeping the more graphic details to themselves since young ears could hear them. 

Maraas was grinding her teeth, still angry at the magical damage done to her charge. They made good time to Red Cliff. On the western flank of Red Cliff they found a sheltered hollow, at the bottom of which there was a bowl-shaped dell with grassy sides. There they left Orta and Abelas with the pony and their packs. The other three went on. After half an hour’s plodding climb, Maraas reached the crown of the hill; Blackwall and Iron Bull followed, tired and breathless just as Maraas was. The last slope had been steep and rocky. 

The city was locked up tight, the gates closed and a guard watching the road leading to Red Cliff. Maraas went down, Iron Bull and Blackwall next to her and spoke to the guard. She wasn’t letting anyone in, not even them. Blackwall told her that they were with the Inquisition, that they had been invited by the Grand Enchanter and she only snorted and told them to leave. Something was very much  _ wrong _ . They went back to the dell. They started a fire and made something to eat as they made their plans. 

Orta and Abelas spoke to each, small and strained words. It was better than it had been before they left. When they had eaten the company got ready to go on. They put out the fire and hid all traces of it. Then climbing out of the dell they took to the road again. They had not gone far before the sun sank behind the westward heights and great shadows crept down the mountainsides. Dusk veiled their feet, and mist rose in the hollows. Away in the east the evening light lay pale upon the dim lands of distant plains and woods. 

Orta and Abelas now feeling at ease with each other again and greatly refreshed from their fight with each other were able to go at a fair pace, and with only one brief halt Maraas led the company on for nearly three more hours. It was dark. Deep night had fallen. There were many clear stars, but the fast-waning moon would not be seen till late. Blackwall and the Iron Bull were at the rear, walking softly and not speaking, listening for any sound upon the road again. At length Blackwall broke the silence, “We are going to have to find a way in that  _ doesn’t _ make us go through the ocean.” 

“The camp is close. We can send a letter to Leliana, see if she can help us.” Orta reminded him as she picked her way through the dark. 

“It makes no  _ sense _ ,” Maraas muttered, “that they didn’t know we were coming. Fiona was the one who told us to come to see her, so why didn’t she tell them that we were  _ coming _ ?”

Iron Bull gave a low hum, “Something isn’t right. We should try and find a way in before first light. But a letter to Red is a good idea.” 

The camp welcomed them with a warm fire and dinner. They set once more before dawn and came across a rift. Abelas was set down and they charged toward the demons but something was wrong. The demons were very fast or very slow, and the same could be said for each of them. Blackwall was going to so slow that every movement was seen. Then it was as though time caught up with him and he charged too quickly and ran past the demon who jumped into its own portal and sprang up behind Orta who barely dodged. Abelas was trying to close the rift and it was too  **hard** . 

It was as though a dark magic,  _ more _ unstable than her mark was trying to push her own magic away. She pushed harder on it and it pushed back. She grit her teeth and pushed toward it with her whole body. She dug down deep into herself and found the small wisp which she had been given by Falon’Din. The wisp pushed a large shot of energy into her magic and into the mark. The rift didn’t close but it did break the other magic, causing it to backlash and the time to reset itself, the demons falling to their knees and letting out sounds of pain. Abelas fell to her butt and shook her hand with the mark on it to make it stop hurting.

_ Interesting,  _ Falon’Din said with a hum in his voice,  _ I haven’t seen magic like this since the golden years of my rein. Heed me, girl. Mind your step.  _

She had gotten use to speak to him with only her thoughts. It had taken many days to master it. She watched the mark on her hand pulse with power,  _ What was that?  _

_ A taste of the power I once wielded. Some day, you will too.  _

She rubbed it as the others fell onto the demons with their weapons. She got up and closed the rift. The woman who was guarding the gate came out of hiding and thanked them. She let them into the city and Abelas looked around. She wasn’t very impressed but she had seen ruins of once great empires when she had been with her clan and now in her dreams. The city was in a sorry state but it wasn’t  _ too _ bad. As they walked around and asked for directions they came to the docks and Abelas could hear something. 

_ Abelas.  _ Falon’Din snapped at her. She chose to ignore him. 

A tiny whisper of pain. She looked down toward a large shed on the end of the dock. She walked toward it, her small hand leaving the safety of the large pockets of Maraas. She heard Orta call her name and she ignored her. She came to the shed door and found it locked. Something was on the other side of the door. Something important. 

_ Abelas, please. You don’t want to know what is making that noise. Turn back.  _ Falon’Din pleaded with her. She pulled at the handle and it didn’t move,  **_Abelas._ **

She was pushed out of the way and Orta picked the lock. As the door swung open the smell of dried blood and the hollow eyes of the dead greeted her. She wrapped her arms around herself and Orta tried to pull her away. She jerked away and walked into the room, the skulls weeping with magical energy. She reached out to touch one and was jerked away and up into armor covered arms. The door was slammed shut. Blackwall was holding her. Iron Bull and Maraas were talking to each other but Abelas couldn’t hear them. 

She felt her lower lip tremble,  _ What are those skulls?  _

_ Mages. Turned tranquil and then killed. Magic is not just in the blood, it is in the soul. Being made tranquil only locks the magic away.  _

_ So they killed them? For what?  _

_ The eyes of the dead see things no mortal can comprehend.  _

Her ears were ringing too much. They went away from the shed and back toward town. She kept looking at it even when she couldn’t see it anymore. Maraas and Orta went inside a large tavern full of people and to the back. Iron Bull and Blackwall stayed with her. She was placed on the ground and held onto the old and rough hand of Blackwall. She looked down at her feet. 

They had been killed twice over and someone was keeping their skulls. She looked up at the people and then saw  _ him _ . She moved away from Blackwall and walked right up to him. He looked down at her and nodded his head. He wore a brand of the sun like a crown and spoke softly. Tranquil. She turned and looked around for Maraas.

She was talking to two men who kind of looked like Damen when he wore his fancy robes. She watched as the younger man fell into Maraas and she helped him up. As they both went off—the older man helping the one who fell out the door—Maraas and Orta came back to them. She looked at Abelas and then at the Tranquil. She told him to go Haven. He thanked her. As they made their way to the church Abelas could feel her own magic trying to twist away and around her like a cyclone. 

Once the door opened they walked right into a fight. A man in shiny robes like Damen was fighting with magic, twisting and turning, a backflip and slamming the wood into the demons faces pouring out of the rift. As he killed the last one he took a deep breath and turned to look at him. He was very pretty and he smiled at them. The rift shivered in anger and he spoke, “Good! You’re  _ finally _ here! Now, help me close this would you?” 

Abelas was hidden behind a row of upturned pews and the others charged into the battle. She watched as the demons became faster than them and she was very afraid. She closed her eyes and willed the rift to shut, for the time magic around it to cease. As the last demon gave its final cry the rift shut and all of them caught their breath. She stood on shaking legs and came to lean on Orta who let her but held her body stiffly. The mage with dark skin and grey eyes moved his hair from his face and then turned to them. He spotted Abelas and got down on one knee to look at her, a warm smile on his face.

He held out his hand and she put the marked palm into his open hand so he could see it. He turned her wrist left and right, looking at the mark and being very careful. He chuckled lightly and asked, “ _ Fascinating _ . How does that work, exactly?” Abelas gave him a very bored look and shrugged her shoulders. He outright laughed as he stood up and said, “You don’t even  **_know_ ** , do you? You just wiggle your fingers and,  **BOOM** ! Rift closes.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Orta asked as she spit out a wad of blood onto the floor. 

The man nodded his head, “Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” 

Abelas smiled at him and turned to Maraas, “Damen will like him! He’s pretty!”

Bull gave a grumble, “Careful with the pretty ones.” 

Orta folded her arms, “Yeah. I can agree with the giant here. Nothing  **GOOD** ever came from anything pretty.” 

Dorian smirked and looked down at Abelas, “Suspicious friends you have here.” He looked up at Maraas and spoke to her, body relaxed and open, “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance will be valuable...as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Where’s Felix?” Maraas asked him as she cleaned her weapon, “He said he would meet us here. Not you.” 

Dorian looked toward the door his face uncertain and worried, “I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.” 

Orta gave a huff of breath, “What’s wrong with your friend? Your old buddy Alexius couldn’t jump up quick enough to get to his kids side.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at her, “Felix has had a... lingering illness for months now. He’s an only child and Alexius is most likely being a mother hen.” 

“Why should we trust a magister?” Blackwall said as he crossed his arms. Abelas looked right at him and then at Dorian. She walked around him and felt the ends of his robes between her fingers. He didn’t feel  _ evil _ to her, he just felt like magic. Dorian let her play with his robes and only crossed his arms and answered with a heavy sigh. 

“All right,” he said slowly, “I’ll say this  _ once _ . I  **am** a mage from Tevinter but  **not** a member of the magisterium. I know southern's use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like  _ barbarians _ .”

Abelas placed the longest part of his robe over her head and then looked up at him, the material soft to her, “So you sent the note?” 

Dorian smiled down at her, “Well, yes... _ someone _ had to warn you, after all.” He spoke once more to Maraas, “Look, you  **must** know that there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the alliance of the rebel mages from under you. As if by magic, yes? To reach Red Cliff before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted  _ time _ itself.”

Abelas let go of the robe and came to stand next to Maraas, “He beat us here before that lady went to the capital to talk to us. He came here months before we even left then. Did he come here when the Divine died?”

“Well,  _ well _ ,  **_well_ ** ! You are just as a quick as you are adorable.” Dorian said with a coo.

Orta let out a mocking chuckle, “Bend time? Maybe when the Elvhen empire was ruling everything or even long before that, but no one can bend  _ time _ anymore. It’d kill ‘em.” Dorian shook his head at her. 

“The rift you closed here,” he explained, “You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon there will be others like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Red Cliff. The magic Alexius is using is  _ wildly _ unstable, and it’s  **unraveling** the world.” 

_ Falon’Din,  _ Abelas looked at everyone with worry on her face,  _ can you bend time?  _

_ Yes. The reason elves were immortal was because we of the Pantehon bent time to go slowly around us. We aged, but never quickly. We were sealed away, there wasn’t enough magic left to keep the spell going. And so the immortals fell.  _

_ Oh.  _

_ But that isn’t why this is a problem. Time is only meaningful if you chose to use it. The Fade is a dream world, a pocket of magic so powerful it has no rules. Time does. You’re smart, Abelas. What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?  _

Abelas looked down at her twisting hands, “I felt that. Something wrong but  _ right _ . The rift is part of the Fade, kind of. Time was never important there before because no one there used it. But we do. If time and the Fade collide with each other it’ll be worse than things are right now.”

Maraas finally spoke, “You ask for a lot of trust based on  _ faith _ .” 

Dorian gave a huff of breath, “I know what I’m talking about. I helped  _ develop _ this magic. When I was still his apprentice this was just theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is  _ why _ he’s doing. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

A new voice called out, “He didn’t do it for them.” Felix stepped into the light and Dorian gave him a very large smile and a good hearted chuckle.

“Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?” 

Felix shook his head, “No. But I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” He looked to Maraas, “My father’s joined a cult; Tevinter supermisct. They call themselves  _ Venatori _ . And I can tell you thing, whatever he’s done for them, he’s done for  _ her _ .” He looked down at Abelas who ducked her head and clung to the back of Maraas and her legs. 

Orta spoke up, “He’s your  _ dad _ . Why work against him and not with him?” 

Felix bowed his head as he answered her, “For the same reason Dorian works against him. I love my father and I love my country, but  _ this _ ? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing is  **madness** . For his own sake we have to stop him.” 

Dorian nodded his head, “It would also be good if he didn’t rip a hole in  _ time _ . There’s already a hole in the sky.” 

“Why would he do all of this? What does he gain?” Maraas asked. Felix gave a small shrug and answered her. 

“The child. The Herald. This cult is  _ obsessed _ with her. I don’t know why though. Maybe it’s because she survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” 

Dorian seemed to perk up at this and spoke to Abelas even as she tried to melt into the leg armor of Maraas,  “You  **_CAN_ ** close rifts! Maybe there’s a connection. Or they see you as a threat?”

“If the Venatori are behind these recent events” Felix said, “or the hole in the sky then they’re worse than I thought.”

“So what do we do to stop him?” Orta asked. It was Dorian who answered.

“We know that she’s the target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Red Cliff, Alexis doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” Dorian turned to leave and then turned on his heel, walking backwards and said, “Oh and, Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.” 

Felix shook his head at the retreating back of Dorian, “There are worse things than  _ dying _ , Dorian.”

The trip to Haven was a tense one to say the very least. Iron Bull and Maraas snipped and snapped at each other, but there was no real heat in the words. Orta stayed ahead of everyone in the group, sleeping far from them when they stopped for the night. Blackwall made small wooden animals for Abelas, playing war games with her and keeping her happy. Damen and the others met them on the road and he looked  _ afraid _ . He told them about the demon and the Red Templars. Maraas gave a loud roar and slammed her sword so hard into a tree it fell backwards and right into the tree behind it. Damen hugged Abelas tightly and carried her on his shoulders the last week of their trip back to Haven. 

Haven was not much different, save for a Mage from Tevinter waiting for them with a smug smile on his face. Abelas was happy enough to see him. 

“Dorian!” she cried out and jumped down to meet him. He gave a small laugh and swept her off her feet with his staff and she held on and he twisted around in a tight circle and then let her down in one smooth motion. She laughed as she got her balance. Blackwall rolled his eyes and went back to the stables. Iron Bull gave Dorian a long look and then went with Sera and Orta to the Tavern. Maraas asked Dorian to follow her and for Damen to watch Abelas. 

She ran off to go and see her old nag in the stables. Damen followed after her. As she fed the old nag browning lettuce and questionable carrots from her small hands he smoothed out the wiry hair. 

“What did you name her?” Damen asked Abelas after a time. 

Abelas wiped the sticky bits of food from her hands on her pants, “I don’t know yet. I want to name her something special.” 

Damen nodded. He understood that. Once something or someone had a name, they had a place in your life, and if you let them a place in your heart. There was a name on his heart. He loved that name, even though he had not seen him in years. He fed the old girl a few bits and then went back to petting her hair. He looked down at Abelas, “Would you like a suggestion?” 

“You mean give her a fancy name like you and Dorian have?” 

Damen chuckled, “Kind of.” 

“Krem has a fancy name and a fancy haircut. Bull likes to call him “Aclassi “ guy. Sera thinks it’s funny. I don’t get it.” 

Damen had to hold in a laugh, covering it with a cough. Abelas was almost seven, but even she didn’t understand the finer point of puns. Varric could explain things to her. She gave him a very dirty look and then went back to petting the old nag. He folded his hands in front of him as he leaned on the wooden post. 

The wind was picking up, “You could name her after people you loved. In your clan, your mother, the brothers and sisters you had. Anything really, I’m sure this old girl wouldn’t mind borrowing their names at all.”

“What was the name of the person you loved? The one that got you in trouble back in Tevinter?” Abelas asked as she moved closer to him and wrapped the ends of his robe around her small shoulders. He moved them back toward the small hut he was using. He didn’t want to tell her that he had been a slave, ears cut to look human. A warning to the other slaves to behave. He didn’t want to tell her that he didn’t speak the common tongue, only the Dalish tongue. He didn’t want to tell her that he had been doing wrong by the man he loved.

He didn’t want to tell her that he had been marked with silver ink on his very dark skin, and he had eyes like the sky on a cloudy day, ready to rain. He didn’t want to tell her any of this because she would not  _ understand _ , but he also did. Because she would be able to tell him so much. She would know what the words that had been kissed into his skin meant. She would know what the ink on his skin told the world. She would know what clan he had been taken from. They deserved to know. 

He instead lifted her up and threw her very gently onto the bed. She gave a giggle as she landed and he jumped down next to her. The other bed on the other side of the small wall was never used. He pulled the blankets over them and held her close. She gave a giggle and began to play with his hair. Tiny fingers and thin bones tracing the lines of his skull through his skin. It was dim enough in the room that he could see the tiny glow of her eyes. 

He had seen the rainbow in the glowing eyes of his lover. He finally answered her, “His name, or so he told me, was Athlasan. Athlasan Mahariel.”

Abelas sat up, looking down at him with wide eyes and her mouth ajar in shock, “Like the Grey Warden who married King Alistar and her twin who married a Witch of the Wilds?” 

“The very same. He was always very proud of that, I think so anyway.” Damen said with a chuckle. Abelas jumped to her feet, the bed bouncing as she moved around on it. 

“She was Dalish, both of them hailed from elvhen roots! They were raised by another clan but kept their old clan name! Damen, do you understand what this means?” her little voice was  _ colored _ with so much excitement. 

“That Dalish women seem to fix the world every time it goes crazy?” he asked her with a sarcastic tone. She turned so fast that she landed on her butt as the sheets caught her. She pointed at him with a wide smile. 

“That they were  _ heroes _ !” she flopped onto her back and started to giggle and then stopped, her little body taking up the whole left side of his bed, arms and legs spread wide, one hand tuggin on the blanket slowly as she spoke, “Solas wondered what kind of hero I was going to be. I told him I didn’t think I was  _ going _ to be the hero.” 

“Why would you say that?”

“Because  _ everyone _ thinks that they’re the hero of their own story. But history will paint you in different colors.” she answered. They both jumped as Dorian spoke from where he had been sitting on the other bed, listening to them as they spoke. 

“So not only can she be an  _ adorable _ little scamp but she is also so very smart!” he crossed his legs and used one hand to lean on his knees, tucking his fist under his chin as Abelas sat all the way up, a light blush on her face, “But what I am more curious about is how you came to have those wonderful markings on your skin? From my limited knowledge of Dalish culture, I always thought that you received markings once you were an adult.” 

Abelas nodded her head, “Yeah. We get them once we go through a rite of passage. Each creator has a different rite to pass before you get the markings.” 

“Oh?” Dorian said as he untucked his hand from under his chin and just leaned on his knees, “Care to share these rites? Or are you too young to know those things?” 

Abelas gave a little laugh and then covered her mouth, smothering the laugh and then she smiled at Dorian, “I can tell you. Not in detail though. The Keeper knew the details. But she’s gone now.” Her face fell, “ _ All _ of them are gone now.” 

“I’m sorry.” Dorian said and uncrossed his legs, keeping them open, still using his legs to brace his arms, “If it hurts to talk about them then we don’t have to entertain my idle chatter.”

Damen watched as Abelas shook her head, and then she answered him, “It’s good to talk about them. It’s  _ easier _ . When people you love die, talking to them and about them is easier than trying to bury it in the deep, dark hole inside of you.” 

Dorian chuckled, “And how do you know what that deep, dark hole inside is?” He was slightly taken aback as the eye that was not gold gave off a low glow in the dim room, deep and red. 

“Everyone has that hole inside of them. And once you go down into that place, you can never crawl out again. Unless you fill it with light.” Abelas then slid off the bed and came to sit next to Dorian, “Like the story my Keeper used to tell us before she died. It was a short story.” 

“By all means.” Damen said as he got comfortable. 

*************

Maraas was ready to  _ kill _ someone. She could feel it in her bones. She was ready to kill someone and she wanted it to be that asshole Roderick. She was going through training dummies like wet paper. Cassandra was no different next to her. Varric was talking with Blackwall, taking notes by the stables. Writing another book, lying when he needed to, letting some things be kept between the people he was writing about. 

She caught her breath, letting her shoulder twist and pop as she tilted her head. They would leave for Redcliffe in a week's time. She stabbed her sword into the dirt and adjusted her gloves. She could feel the welts forming on her skin from where the leather was rubbing in. She turned her head to look at Cullen. He had seemed feverish while they had spoke to Dorian. Glassy eyes and too red in the cheeks, even under his stubble. 

She could smell the sour stink of lyrium seeping from under his armor and thick fur. She understood that it was used to keep Templars chained to their Chantry keepers and overlords. She understood that. It was how they kept Mages docile and chained to their keepers in The Qun. It wasn’t lyrium—it was much worse—but the same is done to the Mage as it is done for the Templar. Cullen had never said it aloud, but Maraas could tell in the way he tried to be civil with the Mages. Tried to be kind to them. 

She had seen men made cruel to feed the monster in their skin and souls. It did not erase what he did, but it meant that he was trying to amend the after effects of it. She went back to her training dummies. They would leave in a week's time. She had little time to set her mind right. 

*********

The week had not been pleasant. Orta had spent it training at night and drinking at day. Sera had been a pleasant companion for the long nights. Abelas didn’t try to talk to her anymore. She wanted to be mad at the kid, she did. But she didn’t. Abelas didn’t mean to chatter on, it was understandable. The trip to Red Cliffe was tense. The idea of taking on a mad man who could bend time, was something that was making her very jumpy. Abelas held tightly to Maraas. Alexius snapped and sneered at them. But the worse thing was when he said, “You were a  _ mistake _ !” Abelas looked like she had been slapped but then she stood tall and glared at Alexius. 

“I’m not a mistake! I’m not! I was  _ suppose _ to be born! And my birth has nothing to do with Felix and his sickness! He was sick when I was born and nothing you do changes that!” she yelled at Alexius who was sick in the head. Orta could tell by the way his eyes were glazed. He gave low chuckle and Dorian, along with Maraas, moved closer. 

“You were  _ suppose _ to be born?” Alexius said and moved toward her, “Tell me, if you were suppose to be born, then why isn’t your  _ mother _ here, you dirty knife-ear?” Abelas opened her mouth and let out a scream and ran toward him, her little fist curled in tight. Dorian moved faster than Maraas. As the spell engulfed them, she knew something had changed. Where they had once been, there was  **nothing** . Orta shook her head. Maraas gave a roar of anger. 

“ **ABELAS** !” 

*********

She swallowed murky water that tasted like dirt. She surged up and away, coughing and spitting out the water. Dorian lifted her up and gave her a quick slap on the back. She wiped her face and looked around. Nothing looked right. It was dark and cold, damp with murky water and red crystals growing out of the, well,  _ everything _ . Dorian set her down and he turned about the room, hands on his hip. He gave a low noise. 

“Displacement? Interesting. It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us...to what? The closet confluence of arcane energy?” 

Abeles rung out her hair, “I remember being in the castle hall. Then he threw the magic at us. Now we’re in a smelly dungeon.” 

Dorian gave a little laugh, “Let’s see. If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t—” He clapped his hands and gave a short noise of validation, “Oh! Of course! It isn’t where, dear one, it’s  **WHEN** .”

Abelas nodded her head in understanding, “I don’t get it.” 

“Alexius,” Dorian said in way of explanation, “used the amulet as a focus. He moved us  _ through _ time!” Abelas moved toward Dorian and held his hand as they walked about the room. It was full of old boxes and whatever had been in them had long since been claimed by the water. 

“So did we go backwards or not? And how far? None of this looks new, or even old. It looks like everything is just... _ rotten _ .” 

Dorian had a wise answer for her. An answer given as though by a sagely man at least several years older than Solas, “Those are  _ excellent _ questions. We’ll have to find out, won’t we? We need to look around and see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back...if we can.” 

“Everyone else was in the hall with us.” Abelas said as Dorian used his staff to move a few of the crates, the wood black and covered in mold, “Do you think they could have been taken through that rift too?” Dorian looked down at Abelas. 

“I doubt it was large enough to bring the whole room through.” he said and went to inspect a few clay pots that had been spared from the water and red lyrium, his staff making them clank with a hollow  _ bong _ noise when he hit them, “Alexis couldn’t risk catching himself or Felix in it. They are probably where and  **when** we still left them. In some sense anyway.”

Abelas reached down into the clay pots, but could only feel the air as she moved her hand in them, “He said something about an Elder One in his plans. Do you know anyone with that title back home?” 

Dorian gave a low chuckle, “Do I know someone with so much  _ ego _ that every letter of their title should be in a capital letter? No, my dear, I’m sorry I don’t. I suspect that though it is the title of the leader of the Venatori. Some magister  _ aspiring _ to godhood. It’s the same old tune.  _ “Let’s play with magic we don’t understand! It’ll make us incredibly powerful!”  _ Evidently it doesn't matter if you rip apart the fabric of time in the process.”

As they moved to inspect the iron gate they were behind, Abelas spoke, “What was he trying to even do? When he cast that spell at me?” 

Dorian gave the gate a firm tug and it only moaned out its reluctance to be moved, before answering, “I think...he was trying to  _ remove _ you from time completely. If that happened, you would have never been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to foil this Elder One’s plan. I think your caretakers surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He tossed us into the rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild, and here we are. Make sense?” 

“No.” Abelas answered and tried to slip between the bars, her little body going inch by inch through, “But keep talking.” 

“I don’t even want to think about what this will do to the fabric of the world. We didn’t travel through time so much as  _ punch _ a hole through it and toss it in the privy. But don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll protect you!”

Abelas fell forward onto the other side of the iron gate and looked at the lock, “I think you might need more protection than me if all we are going to encounter are locked iron gates. I hope you have a plan to get us back. I don’t like it here.” 

Dorian nodded his head as Abelas used her dagger to fiddle with the lock, hoping to break it, “I have some thought on that. They’re lovely little thoughts, like little jewels.”

Abelas scoffed, “And yet no one who has magic has thought to make a spell to unlock doors.” They heard voices and they both looked to the shadows playing on the walls. A set of stairs. Abelas snatched her dagger away and looked around for a place to hide. She saw a small crack between the walls and she pointed to it. Dorian nodded and went into the darkest part of the room. The soldiers looked sick, like they hadn’t eaten in a long time. 

“Could one of them be down here?” one of them asked. It was a large group, at least ten people. One of them had a key, Abelas saw it as they passed her hiding spot. 

“Maybe. That dwarf and that mage are still looking for their friends.” another said as way of answer. The key was pushed into the lock and the door was opened. They went into the room and Abelas felt a stab of fear. What if they were Templars? Dorian wouldn’t be able to fight back at all if one of them did their fancy Templar thing that stopped mages from using magic. 

She had seen Cullen and the mages train. Templars could cast a blue light that made it hard for mages to use magic. She took out her dagger and moved behind them. As Dorian came out from the darker part of the room and shot out a fireball, she dug her dagger into the exposed back part of the knee closest to her. The man gave a low scream as the dagger went into the knee and then right out the other side. Four of them went down in ash. Abelas pulled the dagger out and then closed her eyes as she brought it down into the shoulder and yanked down, tearing the skin. Dorian was casting spells quickly and Abelas ducked to avoid the aftershocks of the lightning spells. 

The group was dead in a few moments. Abelas wiped her dagger along the water's surface and shook off the pink water on it. Dorian walked over to her and then smirked, “See? I told you I would protect you.” 

Abelas nodded and took his hand, holding onto her dagger as they left the room. The castle was covered in a film, as though the air itself was thick and unfriendly to everyone. Abelas stuck close to Dorian as they made their way up a few flights of stairs. Until the sound of fighting reached their ears, raised voices. Familiar voices. They crept slowly around a corner and peeked to a large opening. Abelas gasped at what she saw. Damen and Orta fighting, going for blood. 

Damen used his staff to slapped Orta across the face and then brought it down over her head. He backed away a few steps and then began to summon a lot of magic into himself. Orta was on the ground, coughing, trying to use her daggers to life her body off the ground, Damen was above her, eyes glowing red as he gathered so much mana into his hands, fire as black as night collecting there. Abelas knew this wasn’t her future and that they had to find the others. She didn’t care. She darted away from Dorian and there hiding place, using her own body as a shield between the former friends. Damen gave a low gasp and the mana drained away, his face horror stricken. 

“Damen,  _ no more _ ! I know that you’re upset but I can’t bear to watch you two fight each other!” Abelas cried out. Damen dropped his staff and backed away. Shaking his head. He turned away from her and Abelas turned to help Orta up. Orta looked at her and then pushed her away so harshly that Abelas fell down. Orta took off running. 

Abelas got up and gave chase. Orta jumped onto a ledge, too far for Abelas to jump. She climbed instead. Abelas lifted herself up and over the ledge where Orta had vanished into her. As she rolled onto the flat surface she saw Orta, sitting on the ground and looking at the Fade through a broken window, the sky a sickly green before her as she gave tiny sniffles to try and fight back her tears. Abelas stumbled to her feet, out of breath, and said, “Orta! Orta...you have to tell me what’s  _ wrong _ .”

Orta gave a choked off laugh and seemed to wipe her eyes, not turning to look at Abelas, “I swear...you even _sound_ like her.” Abelas watched as the Fade shivered and before them stood Maraas, older and broken, eye missing and bleeding. Orta next to her. The spirit of Maraas turned to Orta and smiled so sadly down at her. Orta looked at her and then the spirit seemed to speak, voice a whisper that faded as it did, _My_ _friend_. Orta stood and spoke, “She’s **gone**. But I’m still here.”

“How do you know she’s gone?” Abelas asked. Orta finally turned to look at Abelas. A missing eye, broken nose, a cut lip and a missing ear. 

Orta scoffed, “I’ve spent the last  _ year _ looking for her. And before that, we spent five years looking for  _ you _ . You, who died.” 

“But,” Abelas said, “I’m not  _ dead _ . I was thrown through a portal in time. I didn’t die.” 

“All the good that does us now.” She said and turned away from Abelas. 

“Abelas!” Dorian called. Abelas went to the edge and looked down as Dorian and Damen both climbed up. She made room for them. Damen looked worse than Orta. She hadn’t seen it before now, but his entire lower jaw was gone. Nothing but scars and bone. 

Maybe she hadn’t  _ wanted  _ see what he looked like in this bleak future. 

_ Abelas,  _ Falon’Din whispered to her so faintly now, as though he was too far away to speak to her,  _ hurry. Before this future is set in stone forever.  _

_ How? How do I fix this?  _ She whimpered to him. 

Silence was her answer. 

Damen bent down—so old now—his hair had gone silver in age and stress, and she hugged him tightly. He hugged her back. He couldn’t even talk to her anymore. She buried her face in his neck, “I’m so  **_sorry_ ** .” 

“Yeah.” Orta said, “You  _ should _ be. If we hadn’t picked you up,  _ none _ of this would have happened to us. None of this would have come to pass.”

Dorian gave a low sound in throat, “We can change all of this so it  _ won’t _ come to pass. Which means that we need to find the others. According to the guards we fought, you two have been trying now for awhile.”

Orta gave a bitter laugh, “Damen has. I follow him because there is nowhere else to go. Demons and ghost and too many bad memories. That...and the fact that from here to the last hold out for anyone is too far away to even try.” 

“Where...where are they?” Abelas asked.

“The last stronghold?” Orta asked as she turned to look once more at Abelas. Damen had let go of her, but he still kept his hands on her, “Last time we heard anything about it, the last stronghold was in the Frostback Mountains at a place that Solas took them too. Sky...something. He might be dead too. I know Cullen didn’t last long once Maraas came back and died here.” 

“How can you be sure she’s dead and still come looking for her?” Dorian asked. 

“Because  _ Damen _ is sure of it. He says he saw her in a some creepy as fuck Fade dream. I like to remind him that we now live in a freaky as fuck Fade dream. It’s our lives now, all thanks to Abelas here.” Orta explained. Abelas bowed her head and then looked up, her face set in determination. 

“Then we have to find her. Alive or not, we can find her and then we can find Alexius and then we can go back.”

“And once we go back,” Dorian said as he moved to the ledge, “we can make sure that  _ this _ doesn’t come to pass.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because we won’t let it!” Abelas said and moved to where Dorian was and slid down to her butt to climb down the ledge, “So if you want to help or not then hurry up!” 

They followed after her. Several fights later and they found a set of stairs leading down to a garden of red lyrium and voices that sounded far too familiar. They went down slowly and found each one of their companions. Iron Bull, Blackwall. Fiona as well. And then finally,  **finally** , they found  _ her _ . 

“Tama!”

“Maraas!” 

She had torn all of her hair out, her horns had been shaved. She no longer had her left hand. Abelas ran to the bars and slipped through. She hugged Maraas as tightly as she could. She wasn’t hugged back, only pushed away. She fell to her back with a soft sound of hurt. 

“Tama?” she whimpered. 

“Be gone demon.” Maraas said softly, “I have seen her too many times as she is now to be fooled by this form. She is no  _ child _ and I am no longer anyones Tama.”

“As she is now?” Dorian asked and turned to Orta, “What is Abelas  _ now _ ? You told us that we had died and had caused all of this.” 

“Abelas  _ caused _ this.” Orta said with a snap, “After she was gone, the Breach broke open and  _ everything _ on the other side was now on our side. So yeah,  **_Abelas_ ** died and the Breach opened all the way.” 

_ Hurry.  _ Falon’Din croaked. 

“Tama,” Abelas said and crawled to sit next to Maraas, “how do you feel? About this and...about me?” 

“We did come from the past to this bleak place.” Dorian said to her. 

Bull muttered something in Qunlat and Maraas answered. They spoke softly for a while and then fell silent. Blackwall spoke as well, “If what they say is true, then everything that has happened  _ won’t _ come to pass.” 

Maraas was blind and curled into herself in the back of the cell, but she turned her head to look at Abelas and she frowned, “How I feel? Do you really want to know?” 

“Yes.” Abelas said softly, “How do you feel?” 

“I feel...I feel lost and scared. And happy.”

“Happy?” Dorian asked in shock. 

“Yes. Because I saw you both die. And yet here you are, before me once more. So now I know that I am happy. For now I know that I was  _ suppose _ to be this more than everything I was  _ suppose _ to be and that I would rather risk it all and do this than everything else I  _ suppose _ to do. We will find Alexis and right this wrong.” 

Orta opened the cell and Abelas helped Maraas up. It took a long time to find weapons but once they did, they set out to find Alexius. The company around Abelas spoke seldom, and then only in hurried whispers. There was no sound but the sound of their own feet; the dull stump of The Iron Bull, the heavy tread of Blackwall; the light-step of Maraas; the soft scarcely heard patter of Orta and Damen; and in the rear the slow firm footfalls of Dorian with his long strides. When they halted for a moment they heard nothing at all, unless it were occasionally a faint trickle and drip of unseen water. Yet Abelas began to hear, or imagine to hear the faint fall of bare feet. It was never loud enough or near enough but she was  _ certain _ that she heard it. 

And yet once it started it never stopped, while the company was moving. But it wasn’t an echo since it never seemed to stop in time with them or even start. They found the door soon enough and the lock keeping them out. They left Abelas in front of it, a group of two going to find the keys to open it. She watched them go away from her and then felt the boney hands of the thing that had been following them. She didn’t scream, keeping it all in and letting her shoulders shakes to betray her fear.

“What are you doing here?” it asked softly, voice tender and warm. The breath floating along her neck was cold like snow. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“I’m going home.” she said. 

It laughed, “Home? You are  _ home _ . All of this is yours. Your death was all that was needed to unlock  _ all _ of your gifts.  _ Our _ gifts.” 

“I’m not you.” Abelas said with a grim face and feeling more determined than she truly felt. She felt so very scared and alone. 

“Not yet.” it said, the bones under the frail skin moving as it slid away to walk around her. Abelas didn’t know why but she remember in that moment something her Keeper—her grandmother—had told her.  _ Falon’Din will only take you when he faces you. Keep your back to him and he will ignore you.  _ Abelas turned, facing the door, her back once more to the thing that claimed to be an older her. A her she never wanted or hoped to be.

“I’m going to go home and  _ stop _ this.”

“Oh, please.” it said with a soft chuckle, “What would your  _ mother _ say if she heard you talking like that? She didn’t give us this gift just for us to  _ waste _ it.” 

Abelas knew she shouldn’t, but she didn’t care. She felt the anger grip her tightly and she turned on herself, slashing her knife across sickly yellow skin and opening up a large gash, “What do you know about my mom?!  **_I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KNOW MY MOM!_ ** ” The demon fell and became dust. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeves. She sat down on the steps, her legs pulled close to her chest. She gave a loud sniffle. 

She wished she had known her mother but at the same time, she  _ didn’t _ really. She heard a door open and she jumped up, looking for a place to hide. she saw an overturned table with a long dirty cloth on it. She ducked under and behind it. She heard her name whispered by Dorian. She peeked and saw him and—of all people—Leliana. 

“Are you sure, Dorian?” Leliana asked, her skin pulled so tightly to her bones. The others came back, each with a glowing piece of the key. As Dorian went to open his mouth, so many guards came in. Leiana grabbed the dagger from his belt and gave a roar of anger. She killed so many, but the others were no different. When the battle was done, the dusty floor was covered in blood. So was Leiana. Dorian snatched his dagger back from her. Orta gave her a bow and arrow from her own pack. Leiana took it with a smirk. Dorian sneered at her. 

“What do you think you’re  _ doing _ ?” he snapped, “You are in no condition to fight!” 

Leliana only stated, “I’m only trying to stay alive. No strangers life is more important than my own.” Dorian rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

“Where is your empathy woman?”

She glared at him as the key pieces were put in, “ _ Empathy _ ? What empathy can I afford my enemies? Shall I dither about whether to defend myself because it cause someone pain?If that had been the case, I would have died long ago! You must be willing to protect yourself and what you cherish no matter the cost.” 

Dorian snapped at her, “I know that! But can you not afford to feel anything?!” 

“ **NO** !” 

“ **STOP IT** !” Abelas cried out and the door gave a low click in the room. Leliana looked at her and then looked away. 

“Come,” Maraas said, “it is time to end this at last.” They all walked past her and she took ahold of Dorian, his hand warm and large in her smaller one. Alexius didn’t even turn to look at them when they entered, weapons drawn. Felix was next to him. She looked at him and what she saw wasn’t a human anymore. He was barely even a shadow at this point. A little puppet with no strings and no  _ soul _ .

She turned her face away from his own, slack and unseeing as it was. Dorian, it seemed, felt more anger than anyone at the sight of his friend. He marched up to Alexius—whose back was to them—Abelas in tow, a scowl on his face. 

“Look at what you’ve  _ done _ , Alexius!” he said, “All this  **suffering** , and for what?”

Alexius hung his head and answered, “For my country, for my  _ son _ ...but it means nothing now. I knew that you would appear again. Not that it would be now. But I  _ knew _ I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

Dorian shook his head in disgust, letting go of Alexius and taking a few steps back, “Was it  _ worth _ it? What you did to the  _ world _ ? To  **yourself** ?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said softly, “all we can do is wait for the end.” 

Abelas bit her lip and then asked, “What are you talking about? What’s ending? The world is already broken, isn’t it?”

Alexius gave a very sad chuckle, full of defeat and lost hope, “The irony that you would appear now, of all possibilities. All that I fought for, all that I  _ betrayed _ , and what have I wrought?  _ Ruin and death. _ There is nothing else. The Elder One comes for me, for  _ you _ , for us  **all** .”

Felix gave a low sound as Leliana pulled him to her, a rusty dagger at his throat. She glared at Alexius and Dorian called out her name in alarm as Alexius called out his sons and begged Leliana to spare Felix her wrath. 

Abelas shook her head, “You didn’t  _ save _ Felix. No one should have to live like that. That,” she pointed to Felix who didn’t even try to struggle, “is no way to live.”

“I agree.” Leliana said and drew her dagger across his throat, his body falling to the ground like a puppet who had gotten his strings cut. Alexius gave a cry of alarm and fell to his son's side. He let Felix rest and then gave a loud cry of rage before a blast of magic was sent toward Leliana, throwing her away. Dorian picked Abelas up and set her on his back, drawing his staff. She clung to his warm back as they fought Alexius, who had thrown up a time shield and was making some of them move so slow. Maraas was having a hard time, her lost eyesight making it hard for her to hit Alexius as he danced around her. 

Bull and Blackwall hit him often enough. Orta and Leliana were always inside the shield when it happened to be put up. Damen and Dorian flung spells like nothing was more important to them. And it was. As Dorian gave a twirl to avoid Alexius and his magic made sword, she fell off his back and right in front of Alexius. He scowled down at her and he lifted his sword high above his head, the blade burning with magic. He snarled out at her, “Why won’t you just  _ die _ ?!”

She threw up her hand and screamed. Her magic hit him so hard that it sent him flying into the doors, his back breaking and as he slid down to the floor, a streak of blood was left behind. He looked right at her and then a low chuckle. She got to her feet and wiped under her nose with her sleeve, looking down at the red stain left behind. He gave his last breath and then he was still. Dorian came to stand next to her and she looked up at him, holding her own hands, “He wanted to die, didn’t he?”

Dorian only gave a small nod, “All those lies he told himself, all those  _ justifications _ ...he lost Felix long ago and he didn’t even know. Oh, Alexius.”

Abelas gave him a very small hug, “You really loved them, didn’t you, Dorian?”

He smoothed down her hair, “He was once a man I compared all others too. Sad, isn’t it?” he went to cooling corpse and took off the amulet that had started this whole mess, holding it up for her to see, “This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.” 

Leliana shook her head in fear, “You don’t have that much time! You have to leave  _ now _ and stop all of this from happening!” 

Orta and the others moved to the door, “She’s right. He knows you’re here now and he won’t let you live a third time. You have to leave kid.”

Maraas stopped at the door, “I love you, Abelas. Never doubt that.” Dorian pulled her to stand at the top of the dias where Alexius had once stood and he began to pour his magic into making a time rift. A green mist began to surround them and outside the door a loud sound was heard before the fighting began. Leliana readied her bow. 

As the door was thrown open by the body of Damen, she began to fire off arrows, “Though darkness closes I am shielded by flames. Andraste, guid me. Maker, take me to your side.” she was hit in the shoulder by an arrow and Abelas tried to move to her. Dorian grabbed her by her upper arm. 

“If you move,” he said as the magic began to hiss and spit at them, the noise loud all around them, “then we all  _ die _ !” She tore her hand away from him and turned to look at Leliana as she cut down by a demon. Abelas gave a shout and a white light engulfed them both. She opened her eyes and saw a silver pool of moonlight before her. She was in someone's lap. 

“Where am I?” she asked fearfully. 

“With me.” Falon’Din answered. She closed her eyes and buried her head in the folds of his robes. He smelled like sunflowers, “What you saw was only one future. A world where you died and came back by your own violent and evil emotions. But you have seen this world and now you will strive to  _ avoid _ it.” 

She asked him, “Do you know what it’s like to be like that? To kill for the things you believe are right even if it makes other people sad and angry?”

“Yes.” he answered, “I know it well. At one point in my life I believed myself to be right about everything. I thought that I was making the world a better place, for I was remaking it in my image. Looking back, I see I did it because I was full of pride, and not much else. Not even common sense.”

“So you killed people for your own ideals then?” she asked with a sniffle. 

Falon’Din thought for a moment and then answered her, “Yes. I did. All of us did at one point, until Fen’harel locked us all away.”

“Do you think that I would kill for my ideals?” she whispered into his clothed lap. 

He laughed at this, “It’s a difficult question and not one you can answer until you’re faced with it. Keep in mind that many people have died for their beliefs; it’s actually—tragically— common. The real courage that anyone can have is when they live their life simply as it is, and suffering for what you believe in. Only then can you gain the wisdom to change things.”

“What if I can’t change it though?” 

“Then you must learn to accept it, or fight to make the change.” 

She gave a heavy sigh and then closed her eyes. As she opened them she was once again with Dorian and they had landed next to Alexius. Dorian smirked at Alexius, “You’ll have to do better than that.” Alexius fell to his knees. 

Abelas looked away from him, “You didn’t  _ erase _ me.”

Maraas ran up and hugged Abelas to her tightly, her knees leaving nasty marks on the stone, and then she turned her glare to Alexius, “You’ve failed, Alexius. Tell me, how  _ forgiving _ is your Elder One?”

Alexius only hung his head, “You’ve won. There is no point in extending this  _ charade _ .” He turned to his son, “Felix.” 

Felix got on one knee, “It’s going to be alright father.”

“You’ll  _ die _ .” Alexius said, his voice cracking. 

“Everyone dies.” Felix answered and helped his father up. They left with the soldiers of the Inquisition, Alexius not even trying to struggle. Damen came to stand next to Dorian, Bull on the other side. Dorian gave a sigh. 

“Well, “ he said, “I’m glad that’s over with.” As platoon of many soldier burst in, surrounding them all. He looked around, and frowned, “Or  _ not _ .”

Maraas saw one of the soldiers place his hand on his sword and she pushed Abelas behind her as the King and Queen came in, faces stony and hard. Maraas felt a tiny spark of surprise at the Dalish elf with a babe in her arms, the crown on her head. The Warden Queen Mahariel. 

Alistair looked right at Fiona and then shook his head, “Grand Enchanter! Imagine how  _ surprised _ I was to learn you’d given Redcliffe Castle  _ away _ to a Tevinter Magister.”

Fiona moved slowly, her body small, toward him and Mahariel, “King Alistair.” 

“Especially,” he said, “since I’m sure that Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan.”

Fiona bowed her head, “Your Majesty, we never intended—”

Alistair cut her off, “I know what you  _ intended _ . I wanted to help you—my wife wants to help you—but you’ve made it  _ impossible _ !. You—and your followers—are no longer welcome in Ferelden.” 

Fiona looked him, her face white with shock, “But...but we have hundreds who need protection. Where...where we will go?”

Abelas poked her head out from behind Maraas, “We still need Mages to close the hole in the sky!” Everyone turned to look at her. Mahariel gave her a tiny smile and used the baby's hand to wave at her. Abelas waved back and Maraas put her hand down. Fiona looked to Maraas. 

“What are the terms of this arrangement?”

It was Dorian who spoke, “Hopefully, better than what Alexius gave you. The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

Blackwall gave his two-cents, “I have know many Mages in my time. They can be powerful  and often times loyal friends with hearts of gold if you let them.”

Fiona seemed to think for a moment and then spoke, “It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.”

“We should be friends!” Abelas chirped. Maraas gave a her quick hush. 

“As Abelas said,” Maraas started, “we would like to offer you an alliance in the face of this threat to us all.” 

“A generous offer,” Fiona said, “but will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?”

“Lady,” Orta said, “the world is  _ ending _ . Do you really want to nitpick a quick deal like this one? The breach is either gonna swallow us whole or we beat it. We can argue over who did what and why later.”

Alistair added with a hiss, “I’d take that offer if I was you. One way or another, you’re leaving my kingdom.”

To say that all of them beat a hasty retreat was an understatement. As they were on the road, Orta came to walk next to Abelas. Abelas looked at her and then looked away. Orta gave a heavy sigh and then spoke to Abelas with a light but heavy hearted tone in her voice, “I’m  **sorry** , Abelas. For what I told you, before. You were the one good thing that came out of this mess. You should be proud of that, kiddo.” 

Abelas nodded, “I am. Thank you, Orta.”

***************

Flemeth paced slowly back and forth in front of one of her forgotten shrines, the grass beneath her moving with each stride. 

“You still worry too much.”

She turned and smiled, “One of us had to Elgar’nan.” 

He smiled at her and sat down on the stone dais of her shrine, “When you worry too much, you make it rain. My poor conduit is worried she’ll have to live on a boat if it goes on much longer.” 

Flemeth laughed, “My apologies my old friend. I’ve been thinking.” 

“I gathered.” he said with a sigh, “About what?” 

“Solas.” 

He rolled his eyes, “He is too old for you to worry about him anymore, Flemeth.” 

“I worry because I have an awful fear.” 

Elgar’nan stood and came to stand next to her, a frown on his face, “What?” 

“There are hidden pocket of our knowledge still hidden. I fear he is still looking for them.” Flemeth sighed. 

“And?” 

“Falon’Din never hid his. He only changed the name.” 

Elgar’nan felt his face pale, “No.” 

“Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ataashi-bas maraas=A glorious thing is nothing.


	9. All new, faded for her.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saying goodbye is hard. Admitting your wrong is hard. Dying? Dying is easy, darling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that many of the companion quests happen once you get to Skyhold, but I needed to get them done before we get there because this story is already long enough and since in the next chapter we shall be on our way to Skyhold, I wanted to get my least favorite character and companion quest out of the way.

The long strip of water reflected the monolith before it in stunning clarity upon its crystalline surface. A path of smooth stone lined either side of the water strip, cool white and inlaid with diamonds. Pillars with runes of power written all around it were evenly spaced upon the stone, holding aloft black flame that burned bright as the sun. The monolith was a sight to behold. Three domes made up each section of it, the largest being in the middle. The windows inside of the upper section were made up of rainbow glass and the lower levels stood open to let in the breeze. Inside the monolith wildflowers grew like dreams up and along the walls, making it smell sweet and airy to the nose. The floor was a giant mosaic of the Elvhen Pantheon giving immortal life to their people, a glowing orb held by Elgar’nan, while all of the other leaned on him from behind.

The floor was heated by magic and the water flowed into the monolith, feeding the wildflowers and one lone tree in the middle of the room. It was so wide that it would take ten large men to encompass it. The tree grew up toward the rainbow light coming down on it. The roots poked out of the ground like an arched spine and the bark wept golden sap. Dirthamen sat upon the roots, looking out of the open doorway to watch the Fade flow outside of his sanctuary. When the ghost of the past came to once more re-enact their lives before him, he watched them. It was all the company he had anymore. 

A younger—much kinder and sweeter—Falon’Din paced before the great tree, his feet splashing loudly in the water by the roots, “We are at a time in history where we can change the world! What do we want to pass on to future generations? That we just stayed here on Thedas, that we didn’t look out to find out where we come from and are we alone? No! We want to pass on this joy.  This excitement!” 

The ghost of himself was floating in the deeper water of the roots and smiled, lifting his hand to wave it airly at his twin, mockingly—affectionately—repeating what his twin had said before, “When a nation dreams big, everything falls into place.”

“Yes!” Falon’Din said with a smile upon his plain face with too big nose and gaped tooth, “Beyond the horizon! Over the next hill!” He looks out at the sky, his face a mask of wonder and excitement he could not express with words, “That’s where we make discoveries.”

“That’s the next frontier?” Dirthamen chuckled and sat up in the water, smirking at his older brother. Falon’Din turned to look at him, eyes wide and  _ blue  _ and Dirthamen felt his heart smart. He hadn’t seen his brother eyes in eons.

“It is in us to look farther and deeper. It’s deep within us. That is why we are all here. Dream of tomorrow, Dirthamen, long for the open seas. Call for this adventure and dream big. Dream of tomorrow.” 

“Falon’Din,” Dirthemen sighed, “we are mortal. And even  _ if  _ we could live forever, we would never know all there is to know about the universe.” 

Dirthamen had been too young to know what the expression his brother had shot him was, but now he knew. It was an idea. He was the reason his brother had made the time spell, he was the reason Falon’Din had convinced the others to use their power to explore the Fade unafraid. He was the reason Falon’Din had become too proud. Too cruel. Dirthamen heard someone moving below him in the root water and he looked down. Falon’Din looked up, a face of nothing gaxing back at him. 

“Brother.” Dirthamen said with a nod of his head. 

Falon’Din jumped to his place and sat down next to him, “You think so loud you woke me up all the way beyond the veil.” 

“Sorry. I can’t do much but think anymore.” 

“Can’t you study the planets? Like you used to do?” 

Dirthamen chuckled, “I do, but even I need a break.” 

“You find anything?”

Dirthamen smiled at his brother, “There are lots of huge frozen worlds, Falon’Din, caught beyond Neptune. If we had been...if we had been better people, we could have tried to go up into the stars.” 

“I know. Audacious visions have the power to alter mindsets. To change assumptions about what is possible.”

Dirthamen reached for his brothers hand and linked their fingers together, looking back out at the Fade, “If we are to discover life on another world, it will change the way everyone feels about what it is to be a living thing in the cosmos.”

“Dirthamen?” 

“Yes?” 

“I missed this. I missed  _ us.”  _

“I did too.” 

They sat in silence as their ghost played out below them.

Falon’Din—the younger and kinder, sweeter older brother he had once known—pulled him to his feet out of the water, “These dreams prevail in the citizen’s ambitions. It is time to set sail for the future. We have to find your place in space. Space is vast and unexplored. And there’s a lot of work to do.” 

“You are a crazy scientist, Falon’Din. We could never know everything.” 

He threw one arm around his brother and chuckled as they moved out of the root water, “We can die trying though.” 

*************

Solas settled into his chair with a sigh, taking a sip of his drink. It caused him to shudder and place it down with a frown. He heard Maraas enter his cabin, since he had kept the door open. She saw his grimace and pointer his loose fingers at his cup, “Something wrong with your tea?” 

He wiped his mouth and looked up at her, “It  _ is  _ tea. I detest the stuff.” 

Maraas chuckled, “Orta said she could smell your tea on you each morning. Sera said for a “high and mighty elf” you drank like everyone else.” 

“I  _ am _ like everyone else.” he said with a scowl, “But this morning I need to shake the dreams from my mind. I may also need a favor.” 

“You just have to ask. I reserve the right to say no.” 

Solas stood from his chair and began to pace the room, “One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages; forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.” 

“When you’re friend was captured how did he—she…?” Maraas paused. He had no idea if Solas was speaking of a man or a woman. Solas was hard to read. 

Solas chuckled, “It.” 

“It?”

“My friend is a spirit of wisdom. Unlike the spirits who clamor at the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade.” 

Marras took a seat at the edge of his bed and crossed her legs, bracing her weight on her hands as she leaned back, “I thought spirits  _ wanted  _ to find their way into this world.” 

Solas once more took his seat, “Some do, certainly. Just as much as Orlesian peasants wish they could travel to exotic Rivain. But not everyone wants to go to Rivain. My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to come here physically.” 

“Do you have any idea what these mages want with your...friend?”

“No,” Solas said with a forlorn expression on his face, “It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn all that by speaking to it in the Fade. It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it.”

Maraas got off the bed and hooked her fingers together, cracking them as she extended her arms, “All right. Let’s go get your friend then. Ask Damen, he’s free. I’m leaving with Vivienne, Cassandra and Sera for the Hinterlands.” 

“Ah, the books Vivienne mentioned. And thank you, Maraas.” Solas said. 

“The same. Damen is free, ask him.” 

“Not the lady Cadash?” 

Maraas stopped at the door and gave him a look over her shoulder, “Does Orta strike you as the kind to  _ willing  _ go looking for spirits, demons or the like, Solas?”

“Fair point. Have a safe journey.” 

“I will. And don’t let Abelas convince you to take her along. She has to catch up on her education.” Maraas called as she made her way down the hill. Solas watched her go. Cassandra and Vivienne stood at the gate leading out of Haven waiting for her. Solas looked across the way to the other cabin.

Damen and Dorian shared it. He gave a scoff and went back into his cabin and threw the cold tea into the fire, where it hissed as it fizzled out. He sat back down in his chair and almost jumped out of his skin when Falon’Din spoke. 

“Are you truly going to pout like a child?” 

Solas scowled at the ghost of his brother, “I am  _ not  _ pouting, Falon’Din.” 

“The girl doesn’t even whine and complain as much as you and she is several hundred years your younger.” 

“Leave me be. I have to figure out how I am going to get to the Emerald Graves and still teach Abelas her spells.” Solas snapped at him. 

Falon’Din was sitting on the bed and stood up, walking around the room with his hands behind his back, “The other mages can’t teach her?” 

“You want inferior mages to teach the girl who will inherit your power and godhood?” Solas scoffed at him and slumped down in his chair. 

“Don’t be snippy, Solas.” Falon’Din sighed, “Ask for help and leave her be. I can teach her a few tricks while you are away.” 

Solas turned to glare at him again, “What trick will you teach her, I wonder? Plaques? Nightmares? Summoning demon so terribly ancient they have no name?” 

Falon’Din stood in front of the fire, and gave one shoulder a shrug, his back still toward Solas, “I suppose anything she wants to learn. She will, after all, be the girl who will become death. She will need to learn what I know, so she can control my power.” 

Solas stood to his feet suddenly and twisted Falon’Din to look at him, stabbing one finger into his face, “Do not act coy, Falon’Din. I know you heard me. I am going to the  _ Emerald Graves.  _ **Your** kingdom.” 

“Dirthamen.” 

“What?” 

Falon’Din cupped Solas’ face, “It wasn’t my kingdom. It was Dirthamens’. When he began to neglect it, I took it upon myself to take care of it.” 

Solas jerked his face out of his grasp, “Liar.” 

“Takes one to know one.” 

Solas stormed to the door, “Be gone.” 

“Ask for help and I will!” 

So Solas did. Damen seemed hesitant but agreed. Dorian—who had been lounging on the other bed reading—said he would come along as well since he needed to get out and see the rest of the “rustic” south. Solas pinched his nose and then Damen said that they should take one more, in cause the Red Templars found them so far from Haven. Solas said he would ask around and they they would leave early tomorrow morning. He asked Varric who said he was busy. Working on one of his novels. 

Blackwall had shook his head as he helped the blacksmith make weapons. He and Cullen had planned to take Abelas out to shoot arrows. At Nugs. To teach her how to use a weapon. Solas had stared at him for a long moment and Blackwall had stared back. 

“Nugs?” Solas asked slowly. 

Blackwall nodded, “That’s right. The little buggers are everywhere. Figure she can try to hit one all damn day and she’d still never get one.” 

Solas knew she would. Death came for all, and it would find you regardless. Even if it couldn’t see you or hit you on it’s own. She would kill each and everyone she took aim at. He nodded his head, “And if she does?” 

“What do you think I’m bringing Cullen for?” Blackwall chuckled, “He can wipe the tears and mend the hurts. He loves that girl like she’s his own flesh and blood.” 

“So I have seen.” Solas said and then bid him farewell. It was the Iron Bull who took him up on the offer. His reason was that any trouble they came across would help him train better than the troops. Many of them had faced Maraas and lost. But a  _ male  _ Qunari? None of them wanted to even look him in the eye. 

Solas said yes and at the misty dawn all of them set out. 

************

Andruil  _ hated  _ when they had these stupid “family” meetings. Because they were not meetings, they turned into arguments that ended up with them all not speaking for a few months. Right now, they had all gone to an old mansion in the Emerald Graves. It was haunted by demons but they avoided the dining room. They could sense how angry all of them were. She could feel them pacing outside on the grass and the grounds, jumping when they saw one of them pass by the windows. She was using her arms to brace her head on the table. 

The table was too hard on her ears. It rubbed them the wrong way. She looked around the room while they waited for Falon’Din. He had to travel far to reach them. Or so he said. She didn’t believe him. He was always a liar. 

Him and Dirathem. 

Elgar’nan sat solemnly in his chair at the head of the table. His long brown hair was tied up high upon and hung down his back from his crown of bones atop his head. It looks like a half-cut bowl, towering over the back of his head and glittering with rubies. His closely trimmed beard had been greying when they had been alive. It was stuck in the fading color part of old age, even though he had only been thirty-five when Fen’harel had done what he did. He still wore his regal robes and jewelry. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes that her nervous. 

Mythal was leaning on the windowsill, closest to the door. Outside was a tree of fruit. Andruil could smell the rotten fruit that had fallen to the ground long ago and making the air smell sweet. She hadn’t said much of anything to them when she came in. She looked very far away. Then again, she had a daugher—several of them, if Andruil was right—who had refused the mantle of Mythal. Maybe that had her thoughts. 

Falon’Din had yet to arrive, and the hour was growing late. 

Dirathmen was here though, and was sitting four seat away from Elgar’nan on the right. He had titled his head back to look up at the painting behind him. He had said hello when he had arrived and not much else since then. Brown eyes, tan skin, brown hair. Nose too big for his face. Freckles, if she squinted at him. What better person to keep secrets than a man who was always overlooked? 

Sylaise was on the loveseat, lounging. Her silver hair was like polished silver as it hung in a long braided whip down her back and onto the floor. She smelled like a spice flower from the desert. She was dressed in a deep plum colored dress of silk, and clung to each curve and showed off a lot of skin. She wore her traditional jewelry of golden gauntlets encrusted with amethyst, bringing out her eyes, rimmed in blue khol. Her skin was smooth was marble and dark as onyx. Her lips had been painted blood red and she looked very bored. 

Her husband, June, was leaning on the wall by the door, sleeping. As the god of craft, he had arms like tree trunks and a barrel chest. His face was burnt and bone peeked through on his cheek and jaw line.  His ginger hair was fading from his hairline. He wore a blacksmith's uniform. On his belt was a well used hammer. At his side was the war hammer he had used in life. 

Ghilan’nain sat next to her at the table. Her copper hair was cut short and her body was plump. She wore a crown of horn on her head. She was dressed in a halla herders clothing. She was busy peeling an orange and the smell was making Andruil hungry. Suddenly the room became cold as ice and she shot up in her seat. Falon’Din came out a shadow on the wall. 

Finally. 

As he sat down next to his brother, everyone else took their seats as well. Elgar’nan cleared his throat and stood, and wasted no time in getting to why they had all been called, “If Solas continues down this path, we might have more to worry about then who will take our places.” 

“The thing we should be  _ most  _ worried about is this pretender who claimed godhood when he has none.” Falon’Din sniffed as he flicked his wrist to the room. As though the whole concept was as annoying as a fly. 

Dirthamen leaned on his face, looking at his brother with a bored look,“None of us had been gods, either. We made ourselves into them.” 

“Through magic and hard work.” Jun snapped. 

Mythal spoke loudly, her voice booming in the room, “ _ Regardless _ , there is now a bigger issue and the pretender  _ is _ that issue. Should he succeed in his plan, what then will happen to us?” 

“In hollow halls and shady dells, in oak-woods blue with silver bells. On silent hilltops under cloudy skies—by well and water, stone and rise. By brakes of thorn and hazelnut, the tall gate stands  _ forever shut.”  _ Falon’Din muttered. 

Sylaise rolled her eyes and looked at her nails, “That spell is old. It’s bound the break if the veil is taken down, right?” 

“Spells cast in anger are curses and curses are hard to break.” Elgar’nan shook his head. 

Andruil clicked her tongue, “Then what do we do?” 

“The girl will have to seal the tear. We can use her—temporarily, anyway—to focus some of our magic out and into closing the tear.” Falon’Din threw his feet up onto the table. 

Ghilan’nain tossed a piece of orange into her mouth,“At what cost?” 

“What do you mean?” Falon’Din sighed. 

Andruil stood up out of her chair and moved her arms as she spoke,“The girl was already made unstable by the corrupted artifact, what happens if we pour  _ all  _ of our magic into her? Has anyone thought of that?” 

“She might go crazy.” June huffed. 

Dirthamen began to bite his nails,“She might die.” 

“The tear has to be sealed. Once it is, the veil will be too strong to tear down by magic alone.” Elgar’nan said as he stood up. 

Sylaise narrowed her eyes at him, “Explain.” 

“Magic  _ alone _ would be too weak to open the veil—even magic like ours—and it would need a conductor to be shot through in order to take it down as well.” Elgar’nan explained with a sigh to the room. 

Andruil listened and then an idea came to her. She sat back down and took an orange slice from Ghilan’nain, “I think…” 

“What?” Mythal asked. 

“I think I might have a solution for our problem with the girl.” she said as she licked her fingers free of the orange juice. 

Falon’Din put his feet down and leaned on his folded hands,“Enlighten us.” 

“The mark is how she is able to seal the tears. We know this.  _ So _ , when she seals the primary tear, we could circumvent the magic—all of the excess she would have around her from having so magic pushed through her at once—and make the mark  _ itself  _ into an artifact of power.” 

Sylaise spoke in a tone of awe as she looked at Andruil,“The only way to tear down the veil would be to  _ have _ that mark.” 

“And since she would become Falon’Din…” June trailed off. 

Dirthamen spit out the nail he was done chewing, “Her life span would be never ending until something tried to kill her.” 

“Good luck with that.”Mythal chuckled. 

Elgar’nan smirked and sat down as well, “And since the pretender doesn’t know that,  _ if  _ he did kill her, he would never be able to tear the veil down. We would be safe.” 

“And what about Solas?” Falon’Din asked as he looked around the room. 

Ghilan’nain ate the last of her orange slices, “Solas has lost too much of his magic in pursuit of our lost relics of power to even  _ attempt _ to tear down the veil and destroy us for good.” 

“But he is  _ with _ the child. And he will know.” June snapped. 

Sylaise looked at her husband with a raised eyebrow, “And? The girl is inexperienced, but she has more power in her little  _ finger _ than he does in his whole  _ body _ at the moment.” 

“This sounds like a hasty plan.” Dirthamen muttered. 

Mythal looked at him, “Do you have another one?” 

“No.” 

“Then we all agree?” Elgar’nan said and looked at all of them. None of them offered another plan and so it was agreed upon since no one voiced an opposition to it. 

**********

The Emerald Graves were a vast land of war and fire instead of lush plains and clear water. The civil war had been relentless. They paid it little mind as they followed Solas in his single minded mission. He was walking briskly and the others had to call often for him to wait for them. Soon they came to an open field with a large hill and Solas took off like a rabbit. The others followed, calling after him. They ran over the hill and Solas jerked to a sudden stop and breathed out, “My friend.”

Before them stood a demon of pride, trying to catch its breath with one knee on the ground. Dorian, Damen and Bull all looked at it and Solas let out a growl of anger, his hands clenched into fists. Dorian and Bull exchanged a look. Damen looked at the demon for a long moment. 

“The mages turned your friend into a demon.” 

Solas bowed his head, “Yes.” 

“You said it was a spirit of wisdom,” Damen said and looked at Solas, “not a fighter.”

“A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose!” Solas snapped. 

Damen looked back at the demon in the distance, “So they summoned it for something so opposed to it original nature that it was corrupted? Fighting?” 

All of them heard feet coming up the hill and tensed. A man in mage robes came upon them and they all looked at each other. Solas had a scowl on his face, “Let us ask them!” 

The man looked at them and then sighed, “A mage. You’re not with the bandits? Do you have any lyrium potion. Most of us are exhausted fighting that demon—” 

“You  _ summoned  _ that demon!” Solas yelled, making the man jump, “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You made it kill! You twisted it against its purpose.” 

The man held up his hand, a look of fear on his face in wake of Solas’ anger, “I—I—I understand how it might be confusing to someone who hasn’t studied demons, but after you helped us, I can—”

Solas grabbed the man by the front of his robes and lifted him clear off the ground, “We are not here to help  _ you.”  _

Damen and Dorian looked at each other quickly. Bull crossed his arms with a huff and muttered under his breath about demon and magic. 

Damen grabbed Solas by the arm and made him drop the man, who stumbled back, “Word of advice? Don’t explain demons to my friend here.  _ He’s _ an expert at them.” 

The man blushed in embarrassment, “Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle—”

Solas pushed the man out of the way as he moved toward the demon, “Shut. Up. You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.” 

“Yes.” the man muttered, bowing his head. 

“You bound it to obedience,” Solas said, his voice cold and firm, “then commanded it to kill.  _ That  _ is when it turned.” 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting this on our little trip.” Dorian said as he crossed his arms. 

Bull itched at his horns, “I didn’t think it’d be demon crap either. Damen, you’re the boss this time around. What do we do?” 

Damen looked at the man and then Solas, “Talk to me, Solas.” 

Solas pointed at the oddly shaped rocks sticking out of the ground around the demon, “The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature. No demon.” 

The man fluttered his hands like a bird at Solas, “What? The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it’s a  _ monster  _ now.”

“Damen.” Solas said and gripped his upper arm tightly, his eyes wide and begging, “Damen,  _ please.”  _

Damen looked at the circle, “You are a lucky man, Solas. In my youth I studied circles like these. I can break the binding quickly.”

“Thank you.” Solas sighed. 

In the distance, the demon stood. 

Dorian gave a low whistle, “Well, that doesn’t seem good.” 

Solas took off at a run, “We must hurry!” 

Bull charged into the demon's legs and aimed for the knee joint to try and cripple it. Dorian and Solas both helped keep a constant shield on Bull and worked to bring down the pillars. When one pillar fell the demon froze and seemed to look at Solas. Then it smacked Bull so hard it knocked him into Dorian. As Solas went to help them stand, Damen worked on the next pillar. Bull shook his head and wiped the blood from under his nose. Dorian handed him a health potion and Bull drained it in one gulp. 

He tossed the bottle away, picked up his war hammer and charged in again. Solas covered him a shield and Dorian went to help Damen. When the next pillar went down the demon fell to both knees and seemed to be shaking its head. Bull caught his breath and the demon stood up. Damen went to the last pillar and began to work overtime as the demon seemed to be vamping up its attacks. Dorian cast another barrier on Bull and Solas came over to help Damen. Finally it came down and the demon fell to its knees with a scream. 

On the ground was not a demon a very human like shape of shadow. Solas ran over to it and Dorian and Damen ran over to Bull. They each handed him a health potion and put down healing salves on his wounds. Bull smirked at them both as they helped him to his feet. They all went over to Solas at a light jog. As they caught their breath, Solas went to bend down and look at the human like shadow upon the ground. His face was a painting of grief and regret. 

He spoke in Elvhen to it. 

“I’m sorry.” Damen said and the others knew he was translating, “The spirit says,  _ I’m not. I’m happy. I’m me again. You helped me. Now you must endure. Guide me into death. _ ” 

“Wait,” Dorian said and shook his head, “can spirits die?” 

Bull shushed him as Damen went on, “ _ As you say. _ ” 

Solas moved as if to cup its face and then it seemed to blow away into the wind. Solas hung his head low and Damen moved a few steps closer. Doran cleared his throat, “We...heard what it said, old boy. It was right. We did everything we could. And you did help it.” 

“Now I must endure.” Solas whispered as he stood in one smooth motion and seemed to wipe tears away from his eyes.

“Let me know if I can help.” Damen said sincerely.  

Solas turned to look at him, “You already have. All that remains now...is  _ them.”  _

The group of mages had finally come out of hiding to stand before them, eyes wide in wonder at what they had seen. The leader of them stepped forward bravely and smiled at them. 

“Thank you. We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.” the other mages in the group nodded their heads. 

Solas stalked toward him so quickly the man almost fell backwards, “You  _ tortured and killed my friend.” _

“We didn’t know it was a spirit!” the man tried to explain as he backed away, his group doing the same, “ **The book said it could help us!** ” 

Solas raised his hand, it glowed with a dark magic. Damen and Dorian tried to move to stop him or yell for him to halt but it was too late. All that was left was ash. Solas was shaking in his rage. Dorian and Damen looked at each other. That had been a spell used to hurt demons. It had been overkill on these mages. 

“Damn them all.” Solas spat out, “I...I need some...I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Haven.” 

************

Abelas was in the bath before the fire as Maraas was speaking to someone in the next room. She saw a shadow move out of the corner of her eyes and she looked. Falon’Din came to sit on the rim of the bath and dunked his fingers into the bath water. She watched him and he sighed heavily. She reached up and tugged on his robe, leaving a wet stain. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He pushed back her hair and then brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, “Oh my sweet girl. How can I explain my worry to you?” 

Abelas smiled up at him, “You can try.” 

“No, sweet girl,” he sighed and placed his forehead on hers, “no I can’t.” 

Abelas reached up with both arms and hugged him. He hugged her back, “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

And then he was gone. 

Maraas opened the door and smiled down at her, “Ready to get out?” 

“Yeah.” Abelas nodded her head with a smile and Maraas grabbed a fluffy white towel and picked her up out of the bath. She dried her off and put her in her little yellow nightgown. Abelas climbed into bed, “Can I have a story?” 

Maraas chuckled, “Sure. Which one?” 

“I want a dragon in the story.” 

“Oh? Let me think…”

*****************

Maraas was coming down the steps leading out of Haven when Solas walked in. Damen had told what had happened. She looked him up and down. Solas bowed his head at her, “Maraas.” 

“How are you, Solas?” she asked him with a raised eyebrow. 

“It hurts.” Solas said as he laid his hand across his heart, his face pinched in heartache, “It always does, but I will survive.” 

“I am glad you came back to us, Solas.” Maraas told him bluntly, “No one else could help Abelas like you do.” 

Solas nodded his head, “Damen was a true friend. He did everything he could to help. And Abelas is a good girl. A wonderful student when she wants to be. I could hardly abandon you now, could I?” 

“As I am sure you know,” Maraas told him as they began to walk to his cabin, “Damen told me everything. So I want to know. What happens when a spirit dies?” 

Solas sighed, “It isn’t the same as it is for mortals. The energy returns to the Fade. If the idea or memory of the spirit is strong enough, it can rise again.”

“You’re friend could come back then?” 

“No. Not really.” Solas said as he opened the door to his cabin and sat down on his bed. Maraas closed the door behind her and sat down in his chair, “A spirits natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar might reform someday, but it would have a different personality. It might not even remember me. It would not be the friend I knew.”

Maraas only nodded her head at him and they sat in silence for a moment. Solas used his magic to start a fire as the sun dipped down. She linked her fingers together, “Where did you go?” 

“I found a quiet spot and went to sleep.” Solas told her with a sigh and rubbed at his face, “I went to the spot my friend used to be at in the Fade. It’s empty, but there are stirring of energy in the void. Someday, something new may grow there.”

“Have a good night, Solas. I am sorry for your loss.” Maraas said as she left him.


	10. In your heart shall burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Live long enough to become the villain in the story, happy ending don't exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter takes places in the middle of this one right before they try to seal the Breach. I just wanted to make it its own chapter. Please enjoy.   
> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Iovro’shan(old-bear)  
> Gra-rodhair(red-theif)  
> ina’lan’ehn-tarlan(pretty-lady)  
> asa’ma’lin-Iovro(mama-bear)  
> haurasha(golden)  
> rodhair(theif)  
> ean-asa’ma’lin(secret-sister)

Cullen didn’t dream often. Nightmares he had  **plenty** of, but hardly did he  _ dream _ . The dream was easy and light and so sweet that his teeth ached. He was outside, tending to a set of horses, fresh and young. The wind brought to him the sweet smell of water and honey. Abelas was running around, laughing and playing with boy who was much taller than her but with his own sandy colored hair. He had pale skin, not grey like his mothers but not Cullen's own peach coloring either, and horns. 

Cullen should have given pause at this, but he knew that this was his son, younger than Abelas but still his. They saw him and he saw them. They waved at him and he waved back before they went back to their game of fighting each other with sticks, chasing each other around the land covered in sweet green grass that was soft to touch. Maraas came out of the little house, red hair loose and long and he had to catch his breath when he saw her. He looked up at the sky and the dream became a  _ nightmares _ . Sick and green and weeping thick black shapes.  **Demons** . 

He turned to look at Abelas but she was not there, only the bloody remains of a son he didn’t even have. Someone grabbed his arm and he turned. Maraas was weeping blood and her teeth fell out as her skin peeled away. He sat up with a gasp and covered his eyes. He wiped his face of sweat and then looked at the bedside table. The smooth polished box sat there, ornate and simple. The Templar seal was on the top. 

He knew what lie inside of it. 

He was reaching for it before he knew what he was doing, the temptation a sweet song in his mind. He jerked away and leapt from bed. He looked out the window. The sky was still dark. No reason  _ not _ to start the day. As he got dressed and washed his face he looked at the letter that had been sent ahead. Maraas was coming home. 

Along with the rebel mages. A spark of anger went through him and as he grabbed his sword heading to the training yard, he knew he was going to have words with Cassandra when she awoke. It was too dark to see anything but he knew a human shape from a non-human shape in the dark. He had learnt the difference long ago. He cut and slashed. Breath in and out and in and out. Cut, slash, cut, jab, dodge, cut, cut, cut, slash, hack, hack, hack, HACK,  _ HACK,  _ **_HACK._ **

He stopped trying to be a soldier and just went  _ mad _ . The dummy fell from its stake and onto the ground. He glared at it, sword held tightly in his hands. A soft sound behind him made him turn—sword raised—sweaty and angry and ready to kill. The glowing eyes made him pause. Abelas had eyes that glowed. Soft and gold and full of childish fear. These were not her eyes. 

They were grey and old and something  _ dark _ in them. 

Solas. 

He lowered his sword and wiped away the sweat from his eyes, “Solas. Can I help you?”

The older elf gave him a long look and then spoke in his soft voice, “I heard you. It woke me from slumber. I wonder, Commander, if the question is can I help  _ you _ ?”

Cullen gave a chuckle, dry and heavy, before putting his sword in its sheath, “I apologize that I woke you up, Solas. And unless you can stop me from sleeping, then I highly doubt you can help me.” 

“You miss them when they are far from you.” Solas said, “When she leaves you worry, but she often leaves the child, and your mind is more at ease. When they both leave your mind worries so much it can not leave you alone to sleep. But now, there is much to worry in the world about and you fear for them.” 

Cullen narrowed his eyes at Solas, “Abelas—”

“Do not lie to yourself, Commander, it rarely works.” 

“Abelas can seal the rifts.” Cullen snapped, “I worry for the world, not just one g-girl and her caretaker. If they were not so important to m—to us then I would not even  _ think _ about them.”

Solas gave a small laugh, “Yes, of course.A little girl that loves you and calls you daddy doesn’t provoke  _ any _ feelings in you. Her caretaker—whom your eyes linger on—doesn’t provoke any feelings in you. My mistake.” 

Cullen glared as the sun began to rise, casting them in a deep grey, “She doesn’t call me daddy.You must have misheard.” 

“In Dalish,  _ mamae _ is mother. Maraas said she wanted to be called Tama, so Abelas does. But she says it like how a child calls for her mother. She calls you  _ baba _ , right?”

Cullen didn’t want to answer. She had called him that often. Not at first, but she had when she had been learning to ride. She had gotten on the horse all on her own without his help and she had looked at him and called him baba. She hadn’t stopped calling him that and he didn’t  _ want _ her to stop. She called him that. No one else was given that name. 

Blackwall, Sera, Iron Bull, even Varric, had each been given a name by her. Blackwall was  _ Iovro’shan _ , Sera was  _ Gra _ - _ rodhair _ , Iron Bull was just Bull, Dorian was only ever called Dorian and that just seemed to tickle him pink, Vivienne was  _ ina’lan’ehn-tarlan _ , Cassandra was  _ asa’ma’lin _ - _ Iovro _ , Solas was just Solas. Maraas was always Tama, Damen was always Da, and Orta was always Orta. Josephine was  _ haurasha _ , Varric was simply  _ rodhair _ , and Leliana was  _ ean-asa’ma’lin _ . Varric had laughed and told her that she was like Daisy. Cullen didn’t know the names of the Kirkwall Gang, but he knew that Varric held them in the highest regard. It was the reason he never called them by name. 

Once he named them then it would paint him in the same light that they had been cast in. Varric was already a crook and a liar, but he was loyal to those he called his own. Cullen knew how that felt. It hadn’t felt that in a long time. He took a deep breath and let the fog from his mouth float between them, “She has given  _ all _ of us names, Solas.” 

“But only you have been given the honorable title of a father.” 

“What honor would she gain from having me raise her?” Cullen snapped. 

Solas gave a very simple shrug of one shoulder, leaning on his staff, “Children think differently than adults. They are simple things with simple wants. Keep them warm, feed, clean and happy and they will love you all their life because they don’t know any better. Even when you hurt them, they still end up loving you.”

Cullen felt a strike of anger at the way Solas was so nonchalant about the way he spoke of Abelas. He felt  _ anger _ on her behalf, “She is not a Mabari.” 

Solas smirked, “Only a father would leap to his daughter's aid, even if she was not here to hear her name spoke of so lightly and cruelly.” 

Cullen had nothing to say to that. He instead moved past Solas, “She should name another with a title of such honor.” 

“She couldn’t have picked a better man who would work for the title, nor could she have picked a better man who would honor it.” Solas said as he passed. Cullen glared at him but moved to the Chantry. Perhaps a quick prayer would clear his mind. And silence the siren song inside of him. He would never admit aloud—not even to himself at times—but when the prayers didn’t work, he would think of Abelas and Maraas. Their voices chased away the siren and her call more often than not. 

********

Dawn came pale from the east. As the light grew it filtered through the yellow leaves of the mallorn, and it seemed to the company that the early sun of brisk winter’s morning was shining. Pale-blue sky peeped among the moving branches. Looking through an opening on the south side of the road Abelas saw all the valley lying like a sea of glittering white tossed gently in the breeze. The morning was still young and cold when the company set out again, with Damen at point and Dorian at his right speaking in soft tones in Arcanum to each other. Abelas looked back and caught a gleam of white fur among the grey tree-stems. A fox running away from the road that would lead them to Haven.

Iron Bull and Blackwall had gone behind them, marching back with stooping backs from sleeping poorly on the road. Dorian and Damen walked together, speaking softly in their native tongue. She knew Common well enough, and she knew Elvhen even better. She had never heard another language, save the little snippets of Qun that Maraas let out. It was not smooth and even like water, like her own Elvhen. But it was not as confusing as Common was. It was smooth like a stone worn down by water, but it also had its harsh words, bumps and dips she could hear and feel in the way Dorian spoke as she rode on his back. 

She was on Dorian's back and he smelled like orchids and honey. Damen had borrowed his wash things and smelled like that too. Orta was more or less asleep as she walked behind them and Maraas was speaking with Fiona in the rear. It was too far away to hear the words and she didn’t much care. She was very, very tired but she couldn’t sleep. Every time she tried, the shadows would come and they were not happy. They couldn’t talk and had no face, but she could tell that they were not happy with her. 

Falon’Din also wanted to speak, but when they spoke it left her more tired than when she had gone to sleep. The conversations went around in a circle in words that she didn’t understand and concepts she didn’t comprehend. Fen’harel was of no help either, a silent enemy in the dark that offered her no help and no words of wisdom like he had done in the past. Damen smoothed back her hair from her head and she turned to smile at him. He smiled back. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, breath coming out as thick fog in the cool mountain air. He kept his hand on her head, like he was trying to feel if she was too warm. She wasn’t, but his hand was cool on her head. His mismatched eyes looking deep into her own mismatched eyes. She reached out and felt the silky strands of silver-blonde hair.

“What color is this?” She asked him.

It was Dorian who answered, “In Tevinter we call it ‘platinum blonde’, because of its color. In the summer is turns the color of dead wheat and in the winter it looks like a metal we call platinum. It’s a lovely little metal. We use it to make jewelry.”

“Oh,” Abelas said as her hand fell away, “does it make pretty jewelry? Like necklaces and things like that? Or is it for the fancy head wear like how  _ ina’lan’ehn-tarlan  _ wears?”

“Who?” Dorian asked with a chuckle. Damen leaned in close and whispered in his ear and Dorian gave a loud laugh, “ _ Pretty lady _ ? Is that what you call Vivienne, truly? Oh, sweet  _ Maker _ , that’s funny. Tell me, am I pretty?”

“Damen thinks so.” Abelas answered him tiredly, “Iron Bull, too.”

Dorian gave a slight scoff, “As if I  _ care _ what that savage thinks.”

Damen gave him a light push, “Dorian.”

******

Abelas was set down when they got to Haven, Dorian ruffling her hair as he passed her. Maraas sent Fiona to go to the Chantry ahead of her and told her to wait for her while she spoke to the Advisors. Abelas held her hand as they went to the Chantry, collecting Leliana on the way. Cassandra and Cullen were glaring at each other when they entered and once they were close enough she could hear the words that they were hissing and snapping at each other. Fiona hung near the edge of of their argument, trying not to draw attention to herself. Abelas could only watch as they went back and forth at each other. Her head was starting to hurt. 

Dorian was there as well, a look of boredom on his face. Leliana moved toward him and began to speak in low tones. The room was lightly spinning but Abelas blinked away the uneven movement she could see and feel. Her hand was in pain and her ears were ringing. Everyone around her was yelling and snapping and trying to be louder than each other. She wanted to cover her ears. She let go of Maraas as she moved closer to the group and Abelas was happy enough to find one of the pews closest to them and sit down, leaning on the armrest. 

She felt so  **heavy** . 

“You were there, Seeker,” Cullen snapped, “Why didn’t you intervene?”

Cassandra gave her a scowl but answered in a very tight voice, “While I may not completely  _ agree _ with the decision, I support it. The sole point of the Herald's mission was to gain the mages aid, and that was accomplished.”

Dorian gave a little snorting chuckle as he leaned on a pillar and crossed his arms, “The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.” 

Cassandra turned to look at him, “Closing The Breach is all that matters.”

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future.’” Leliana said, “The assassination of Empress Celine? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter Cult would do. Orlais  _ falls _ , the Imperium  **rises** . Chaos for everyone.” Dorian said with fake cheer in his voice. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“One battle at a time,” he said with a sigh and then swept his hand through his golden hair, “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.” He looked at Abelas, eyes haunted and bloodshot from lack of sleep, “Join us. None of this means anything without your mark. What is is they say,  _ No rest for the wicked?”  _

Dorian moved away from the pillar, “I’ll pass. I want to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind?” He looked at Maraas. 

She raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re staying then?” 

Dorian gave a single shoulder shrug, “Didn’t I mention? The South is so  **charming** and  _ rustic,  _ I just adore it to little pieces.”

“There isn’t anyone I’d rather be stuck in time with.” Abelas said around a yawn. Dorian gave her a very tiny smile. He nodded his head at her. 

“Excellent choice! But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?”

Abelas could feel the blood moving to her heart and through her body. She wiped at her eyes. Maraas picked her up and Abelas rested her head on her shoulder. She closed her eyes as they went to the war room to speak. She caught bits and pieces of the plan that would take place in a few days. She was going to try and seal The Breach one more time. She was being carried and it was so light and airy and she closed her eyes fully—heavy as they were, and finally— **FINALLY** , slept. 

*******

The lake was calm, waves pushing and pulling against each other, lapping at the shore. The moon hung heavy and round in the sky, low and close enough to touch. The trees leaned down and hung above the lake, making a crater that one could hide in. Large stones lay like fallen blocks all around the large lake. It had been gone for almost seven hundred years and now it was nothing more than a memory of a memory deep within his own mind. He heard the shadows crawl down the rocks, smooth and cold like silk or an owl in flight. Fen’harel didn’t even turn as Falon’Din came toward him over the smooth and wet stones. 

“I’ve been to see him,” Falon’Din said in way of greeting, “he’s a lot like you.” 

Fen’harel gave him a look, one of pity and remorse and then went back to looking at the moon, “I’m what’s left.”

“Or maybe you’re all that ever  _ was _ .” Falon’Din said and came to stand next him. Fen’harel shot him and glare. 

“Don’t say that!”

“Why?”

He looked away, “Because, it makes it sound like what I did...like what I’m doing, doesn’t matter at all.” 

“I am Death, little brother,” Falon’Din sighed, “in the end,  _ everything _ you do doesn’t matter. You are born, you live and try to make your life as wonderful as you can in the little time you have, and then I come for you, and I do not care if you were a sinner or a saint.”

“So I did do it for nothing then,” Fen’harel said waspishly, “by your logic.”

“You didn’t do it to be right,” Falon’Din explained, “but the way you went about it could have been better.  _ That’s _ my logic.” 

“Like how you went on a killing spree that caused us to kill you for a few years.” 

“I deserved it. I was too caught up in my pride and being “ _ dead _ ” made me...think about what I had done and looking back on it, I realized I was in the wrong and if I had gone about a different route I might have been much beloved by my people.”

Fen’harel stood up and punched Falon’Din as hard as he could. As his body fell to the water, Fen’harel followed and kept punching, blood staining his knuckles. Falon’Din started to laugh between each punch, his skin that had fused together pulling apart in bloody chunks, his rotting teeth flashing at Fen’harel, the water spraying up around them, the moon looking down at them. 

“ **YOU KILLED PEOPLE! YOU KILLED THEM AND US AND EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED IS ALL. YOUR. FAULT!”**

“Was it?” Fen’harel stopped, breathing harshly, fist still raised. The water calmed once more around them, “I  _ did _ kill people. I bathed in their blood and  _ laughed,  _ at your attempts to stop me. If Mythal hadn’t stepped in, then all of you would have too weak to stop me. I would have been king. But did everything that happened after, happen because of  _ me _ ? Or because of  _ you _ ?”

Fen’harel slammed him down in the water, Falon’Din laughing at the pain, “Belief should not be given because of  _ fear _ ! It should be given because the people who look to you want you to be strong enough to protect them from harm! Not be the cause of it!” 

Falon’Din smirked at him, “You sound just like Mythal. Look what happened to her. Because you. Locked. All. of. Us. Away.” 

“You didn’t give me a choice.”

Falon’Din used his magic to push Fen’harel away and jumped to his feet, his skin falling away from his bones in thick chunks, the bone rotten under it. Fen’harel jumped to his own feet and Falon’Din gave a wicked chuckle, “The better question is: what are going to do with the girl? I know you can sense it. I will be reborn anew. Just like Mythal has been reborn.” 

“I will deal with it when I have to.” 

“Can you  _ stomach _ it, is a better question.”

*****

The mages were upfront about The Breach. It would take weeks of deep meditation and large amounts of lyrium in order to store enough mana to perform the task asked of them. Fiona was going to see if they could speed the process up, but she held out little hope in regards to that. This was both a good and bad thing. The good thing about this meant that the other tasks that had not yet been resolved could be taken care in place of The Breach, thus spreading the good intention of the Inquisition. The bad thing about this meant that Abelas would be left behind until each region was mapped out and Maraas didn’t want to do that. The black designs on her face had spread and now covered all of her skin from her scalp to her collar bone. 

Dorian had looked at it and said it was magic, but none that he had seen before. Vivienne and Fiona had made off-hand remarks that the ink was moving, slow like semi-frozen honey, but it was still  _ moving _ . They didn’t know why but it was. Solas had no comment on the marks, only a look of deep contemplation. Damen would do anything for his small child, but he admitted that there was nothing to be done if no one had ever seen this and since Abelas didn’t know how or even  _ why  _ she was getting these markings, there was no way to stop them. This caused no shortage of headaches but she could do very little in regards to that. She was leaving for the Storm Coast, Blackwall, Cassandra and The Iron Bull with her. 

It was a simple camp set up, map out the area in greater detail, and if there were rifts to mark their positions so that Abelas could be brought back later to seal them. Orta, Varric, Sera and Dorian were heading out to the Fallow Mire to take care of the missing troops and also to claim the base as their own. Undead be damned. Damen, Solas, Vivienne and a few troops were headed back to the Ferelden Hinterland to finish helping out the troops there. It seemed that there was always something to do there. Josephine was busy getting them rich allies, Leliana was trying to find a way into the Orlesian countryside where the civil unrest had almost killed the nation. There had been a mountain of reports of demon and rifts. 

Cullen was doing better but Maraas wasn’t ready to just throw Abelas onto him. Fiona seemed skittish around children. As they all ate dinner and spoke of light things, Abelas picked at her food and seemed to look like a wilting flower. Maraas rubbed her back and Abelas looked at her. She gave her a smile and Abelas gave her a weak one back. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Abelas looked down at her plate, “I keep thinking about those skulls.” 

Maraas blinked and then pinched the bridge of her nose. She had hoped that Abelas would have wiped that from her mind. It seemed that there was no other choice but to talk about it. She sighed and asked, “What happened to them  _ wasn’t _ your fault, and none of us knew.” 

“That one Tranquil did we saved did.” Abelas said softly, “He knew and he tried to tell us. We didn’t listen.”

It was Cullen who spoke, sitting across from them at the large dining table, “Abelas, sweet-dove, listen to me.” He reached across the table and took her small hands into one of his, “Tranquility is done to mages to protect them. But that isn’t always the case. When I was a Templar, I saw so many horrible things, and looking back I wish I had  _ done _ or said  _ something _ . Hindsight is always clear to you.” 

“Hindsight?” 

Cullen nodded, “It means that looking back on it, you realize you should have done or said something different, and then your current state could have been prevented.” 

“Oh.” 

“The Tranquil was right, he did try to tell us and we we didn’t listen. But things are going to change. I swear, that if we can, we’ll stop these skulls from being made.” 

“Thank you,  _ baba.”  _

_ ********** _

The Storm Coast had not changed much since they had left it. It was still raining, the sand and rocks still wet with both ocean spray and rain drops. A cool wind had come off from the east and the clouds rushed above them as though trying to outrun The Breach. Blackwall, Cassandra and The Iron Bull were warriors all, just like her. The present danger to them was not demons, for no rifts had yet been found. The present danger was from the sky itself. One well placed lightning strike and the end of the world would no longer be a concern for them. 

Her mind was not at ease. Cullen was a man, fully grown and with his own vices. True he had been kind to Abelas, but he had been kind to her when others when around. Where they could see. Hear. Now Abelas would be left alone with him, no Orta or Damen to speak of to act as her shield while Maraas was away. Would he harm her? 

Would he touch her in a way no one should touch a child. Her mind shied away from that. It was not unheard of, even under The Qun. It had not happened to one of her children, but it had happened to a child. The man did not live long when the child's Tama had gotten her hands on him. That Tama was Aqun-Athlok, she had been born a man. She had changed her name and her gender, but not her body, for that could only be done with magic and special herbs. 

These herbs did not grow in the humid heat of Par Vollen. Rumor placed these hard to obtain herbs atop great peaks in the Anderfels. The man was ripped to pieces and she had wept at her own failure. It was not her fault and no action was taken against her. She would make Cullen suffer if touched Abelas like that. Cassandra must have sense her unease for she started up a conversation, “You used to be a sell sword, Maraas?” 

“I was. All of us.”

“Have you ever been to Neverra?” 

Maraas let out a quick snort, “I have been. If I may ask, why do you have so many...I don’t even know what to call them.” 

“Describe them.”

Maraas thought for a moment, “The large obelisk that stick out of the sand and rock. Are they land markers?” 

It was Cassandra who chuckled, “Ah, the old ruins of what was once part of the Imperium. Yes, they are land and mile markers. We tend to ignore them. Our crowning jewel has always been  _ The Grand Necropolis. _ The Mortalitasi take such  **pride** in the dead they tend to.”

Blackwall gave her a look and then went back to looking straight ahead for any danger on the wet dirt road they were on, “You sound like you hate the dead, Lady Seeker.” 

“I do. Do you not?” 

Blackwall wiped rain water from his eyes, “Unless the dead get up and come at me with swords, then no. Dead is dead. They want to sleep in peace and be left alone.” 

“It’s not like we  _ want _ them to be walking around anyway.” Iron Bull said with a huff as they started to climb a sharp incline. A sound caught their attention, and they all looked up. They jumped out of the way and down to the lower road they had just been on as boulders came tumbling down on them. They pressed themselves low to the ground, crouched, and into the rocky wall of the incline. Cassandra and Blackwall raised their shields and the rocks bounced off of them. Maraas and Bull helped them hold them up, all four of them taking the impact as each rock rolled down and dented the metal into their hands and arms. 

As the last rumble faded away they waited for a long time in the mud and rain. Maraas was suddenly struck with something she had been told about the dead. As they climbed to their feet she said it aloud, “The living tell the dying not leave, and the dying do not listen. The dying tell us not to be sad for them, and we do not listen. The dialog between the living and the dead is full of misunderstanding and silence.” (Welcome to Night Vale, Ep. 37)

“Damn. That’s deep.” Iron Bull said. 

As they started back up the incline Maraas said, “Abelas told me that. I had asked her about her birth mother and her adopted mother who had died before she came into my care. That’s all she said on the matter.” 

“Children are wiser than we give them credit for.” Blackwall said softly. The rain seemed to agree with their gloomy conversation. That did not last long. A small group of Red Templars seemed to fade out of the shadows, swords at the ready in tight hands. Their eyes seemed to glow like warm blood in the dim rain-tinted light. They had not put away their weapons from when the boulders feel. 

The Red Templars held theirs in tight grips. The swords looked abused, and dull. The leader smirked at them and gave a half hearted attempt at a shrug, “So...where is the little Herald? Our employer wants to...meet her.  _ Talk _ .” 

“Yes,” another said, itching at his cheek, making it bleed and spit out chunks of brittle red lyrium, “He wants to talk to her. I think the conversation might go something like, her screaming as he rips her apart.” 

The Leader nodded, “I agree.  **_Loud_ ** screaming.” 

Maraas clicked her teeth together and then looked at Cassandra, “Cassandra, if you know any prayers for the dead, I suggest you start saying them.” 

The Red Templars laughed, “Planning on dying here today, you Qunari whore?”

Maraas looked at them, her face frozen in stone cold rage, “No. But  _ you’re _ dying today.”

The rain seemed to cow under the heat of their anger. She and Bull were faster than they looked. Cassandra was stronger and Blackwall much more crafty. She didn’t use her sword, she just tackled the biggest Templar to the ground and used her sword to cut of his head off once they were both flat on the ground. Bull went after the two archers. Snapping a set of knees on one and sending the head of another flying. Cassandra was locked in place by her shield being held by a rogue as he tried to wrestle her to the ground. 

Blackwall charged into him and sent him off a cliff side. He landed with a sick noise. It faded away as they fought. Maraas hit and tried to use her nails on one of them, he was dodging too much. She was taken by surprise when her sword went through a smokey illusion. He gave a cry of power as he jumped down from the trees and she braced herself for his blade. A large mallet hit him mere inches from her face and sent him into a crooked trunk of a dead tree. 

She turned to look at Bull, her eyes wide in surprise, and he just smirked at her, hefting the large mallet onto his shoulder. She only nodded her head in thanks. When they were done and bloody, the rain had stopped. Cassandra gave her sound of disgust, “The rain could not  _ wait _ until we had been washed of this foul blood?” 

“I don’t the sky has any say what it does or doesn’t do, Lady Seeker.” Blackwall said as he swiped his sword harshly down and thick chunks of skin and blood came flying off. 

*******

Damen had been in the Hinterlands on several occasions. It would never match up to the beauty and heat of Tevinter. For all its flaws, at least it was warm and beautiful. It would have been a pleasant trip, if Vivienne and Solas did not argue with each other so much. They tried to play it off as  _ academic discussion _ . Damen had heard that every time his parents had gotten into it arguments. Honestly, having to hear them bicker about—of all things—on how to properly keep a barrier up for a longer time without using too much mana. The trail they and several of the troops were on was pleasant, a well used dirt road under thick tree branches, casting warm sunlight in wide patches on them. 

He is between two of Leliana's people, elves who don’t speak. Two of Cullen's men lead them, swords drawn and at the ready, but held in a loose grip. Solas and Vivienne walk in the middle, even steps and grace. Their staffs are slung on their backs, the gems and jewels glowing faintly with the magic inside of them. His staff in comparison was a dull piece of wood wrapped in fading ribbons that Abelas had found on their travels. One single cracked marble of faded purple hangs from an old piece of twine. He had been raised in the splendor and glory of being a noble mage from a well bred bloodline. 

He had slaves and servants, bakers, and butchers, more money the he could ever spend and one mistake had sent him and his family on the run. His father had never forgiven him, not really. The birth of the twins had been a godsend, and he had been stripped of his title and rank. He left home not long after his younger brother turned ten and met Orta. She had tried to pickpocket him. They had been friends ever since. He no longer wished for the life he had once had. 

This simple life of hard work and good friends was better than the one he had. That didn’t mean that he didn’t feel a little jealous when looking at the well kept staffs on Solas’ back, or the elegant grace of oakwood that Vivienne could wield. Vivienne fell back to walk in step with him and Solas went to walk with the knights. It seemed that their argument had hit a nerve for each party. He could ignore her tight expression and pursed lips. But he had been raised a gentleman. A lady was never allowed to have her face twisted in anger. 

“Madame Vivienne.” He said softly, and bowed his head in an elegant acknowledgement of her when she turned her head slightly to look at hi, “I would like your opinion on something. If you don’t mind.” 

“Of course, darling.” She said and smiled at him, “Whatever can I do for you?”

“As I am sure you are well aware, I, like Lord Pavus, am from the Imperium. The rules of our Great Game and both similar and yet vastly different from yours. If I may be so bold, may we discuss the differences?”

Vivienne had the good grace to not mention his lack of eye contact, or even point it out, but she did throw her head back in a mock laugh, not cruel to his question but a laugh that had been perfected while she had been a player of The Great Game, showing off the golden collar studded with blue diamonds to the sunlight, “Why, my dear! I never miss a chance to help those who ask to gain knowledge. What would you like to know?” 

They spoke of the Game and the rules. Major players and players that played in both games. The fools who thought themselves  _ untouchable _ . Food and what should and should not be served. They both agreed that poached mushrooms were  **not** a summer dish. The sun had swept from one side of the sky to the other. They had not seen any new rifts at all. 

With the dragon dead and the rifts closed the Hinterlands might be a safe area once more. The mages had left to aid them and the Templars had run off. As they entered the main camp Vivienne made a low noise and he looked at her.

“Madame Vivienne?” He asked. Her face was smooth and cold as she watched Solas take a lantern and tell one of the scouts that he was going into the woods—not a long way off—to meditate. 

Her eyes followed him as he walked away from them, “He is a  **peculiar** one, isn’t he?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” 

“ I don't know what to make of Solas. So much knowledge and so little  _ personal _ history... I find that...  **peculiar** , don't you?”

Damen did, but every time he looked at Solas, something made him hold his tongue. Something old and powerful. That is what it felt like looking at him. Something so old and powerful that the pitiful attempts of even powerful mages like them—or Anders, the former Grey Warden turned renegade—where no match for him. Sometimes when he looked at Abelas in the right way or right light, he thought he saw the same thing. Old and powerful but also young and scared. He answered her differently than what he thought.

“Maybe he is a horse of another color.” 

Vivienne gave him a smirk, “What a plebeian saying, darling,”

*******

Orta was going to kill one of them. If the undead didn’t kill them first. 

“It stinks!” Sera said with a scowl on her face as they walked along the bank of the foul smelling, green swamp water. Dorian had been gagging for the past hour, holding a silky piece of cloth over his nose. Varric was taking all of it in stride. Orta had a feeling that he was writing down everything in his head to put into a book later. 

“Didn’t you say that a plague happened here?” Dorian asked from behind his silk cloth. 

Varric chuckled, “Don’t worry Sparkler, that happened twenty years ago.” 

Dorian shot him a look over his shoulder, removing the silk cloth from his nose and mouth, “ _ Sparkler _ ? No. Varric, I want a new nickname.”

Sera let out one of her snorting laughs, “Sir Tight Pants sounds good?” 

Dorian gave her a very pretty smile, turning to look at her, “I know my pants are tight. I want everyone to see how perfect my legs are.”

Sera gave him a pout, “You take the fun out of everything.” 

“I try,” he said with a flutter of his eyelashes. He turned to look back at Varric once more, “Now. I would like a new nickname please.” 

Varric raised an eyebrow, “What’s wrong with sparkler? Not colorful enough for you?”

Orta cut in, “Log over water. Slow and steady.” They went in single file, silent and careful. The dead in the far off distance gave their moans of displeasure. Orta went first, then Sera. She gave the water a scowl and Orta could see that she wanted to kick at the edges of it. Her foot just tapped out a tuneless rhyme instead. 

No reason to bring the dead running toward them. Dorian was quick about it, shaking off the droplets from his shoes and Varric came after him. Once they were far from the water's edge Dorian picked up right where they left off, “You must know me better by now. Or does the moniker you gave me five minutes after meeting me still apply?” 

Varric shook his head with a chuckle, “I have the eyes of a story teller. It’s a gift.” 

Dorian gave him a pout, “So, I’m a pit of light you stick in a window sill to impress passersby? All flash and no heat?” He chuckled and then smirked down at Varric, “That’s actually pretty clever.” 

Varric threw his arms open, as though he was getting ready to embrace someone, “See? Embrace your place in the universe, sparkler.”

Orta rounded a corner and then stopped dead. Sera ran into her and fell back into Dorian who caught her and set her back on her feet. She grabbed her daggers, but didn’t draw them. This man was at least a head taller than Bull and almost as wide. He was standing in the middle of what used to be a town square or something like it. It was moss covered stone under his feet. On his shoulder was huge double sided mace made of bone and metal. He was one of those Avvar. She placed one foot in front of the other, soft steps and quick feet. They were looking for rifts and demons, not to fight these clowns. The man didn’t even turn his head. In front of him was a poorly sealed rift. Small whispers of Fade and green mist still seeped from the gasping line. 

“Come to see the warnings that The Lady of The Sky sends?” He asked and all of them stopped. Varric looked to Orta and Orta gave him a very confused look in return. Every other Avvar that they had met had tried to kill them. This huge motherfucker had only asked them a question. It was a nice change of pace to be honest. 

“What warnings?” Dorian asked slowly. 

“She sends the birds in the sky to tell us that she is hurting.” The Avvar said and then turned to look fully at them, “The sky is weeping with open wounds and she wants us to help her. I don’t know how to though.” 

“We know a guy.” Orta said with a snicker, “Or, a very little girl.” 

“She’s the glowly Herald.” Sera said with a snorting chuckle. 

“Ah,” the Avvar said, “the one the chieftain's son wants to fight and kill. I’ve heard your men talk about her. A child who was blessed. Or cursed depending on who you ask.” 

“Why cursed?” Varric asked. 

“Gods are fickle. They give you gifts that can be used for good or ill depending on the whim of the user. Even The Lady of the Sky can be cruel when it suits her.”

“It’s like the old saying, everything in moderation.” Dorian said with false cheer.

“Well, shit.” Varric said as he itched the back of his neck, “It’s not the kid has much choice in how often these rifts open and close.” 

“How about I make you a deal?” Orta said, “If I can get her holy selfness to seal up the holes in the sky, will you let our people go?”

The Avvar laughed, “I can’t make anyone do anything. I am Skywatcher. But if you can seal up the holes, I’ll follow you to your keep and help you in anyway that I can. My clan would understand. The Lady of the Sky wants us to help her. If you lot can do that, then I can help you in return. But your men can only be returned to you when your Herald comes to  _ fight _ for them.”

“She’s six.” Sera said with a harsh flick of her arms into the air.

“Seven.” Orta said, “Maraas wants to throw her a party soon.” 

“The point is, she’s a child.” Dorian said with a huff and a cross of his arms. Skywatcher looked at Dorian, a slow move of his head. He eyed them up and down and then he chuckled, which turned to an outright laugh. 

“You’re prettier than most of the woman in my clan. Do you have a husband ready to kill for you or does your Herald plan on marrying you off?” He said with a chuckle. Dorian gaped at him like a fish and Sera bent double with laughter. Orta looked at Varric who had taken to writing this down in his little notebook. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She folded her arms and waited for his laughter to die away, before speaking. 

“Look, the kid can’t fight to the death with anyone. She spooked a nug by accident once and didn’t stop crying for like, three  _ hours _ . She’s not a killer. The kid is scared to death of hurting anyone for any reason. So, level with me here. I’m trying to help all parties. The kid can’t fight. Can’t we send someone  _ else _ in her place?” 

Skywatcher itched along his jaw with the blunt tip of his nails, “Her father. He can fight in her place if she can’t.” 

Sera wiped away the tears still leaking from his eyes, smothering her snickers, “The kid doesn’t have one. A dad, right? She only has all of you. Unless the mage with you is her father.”

Orta shook her head, “Abelas is an orphan by definition. According to her, her first family found her and took her in, since her birth parents died when she was a baby. Then they died. Then we took her in. So, if we want to get picky about family, then Abelas doesn’t have anyone by blood. But she has  _ us _ . So she has family.” 

“Can Maraas fight for her?” Dorian said, a sour look on his face, “Her mother as it were.” 

“If she can fight and kill, then yes.” Skywatcher answered. 

Orta sighed, “Then we need to head back. Maraas will want to know about that. And Cullen will be happy to know that his men are still alive.” 

“Says who?” Sera said. 

Orta looked up at her, “Didn’t...didn’t he say that our men were alive?” 

“He said that Curlys men talked about the little lady.” Varric said, “but he never said that they were still alive.” 

“They are.” Skywatcher said, “But not for much longer. You want them alive? You had better hurry and fight the brat. Heal the wounds in the sky.”

“We’re trying.” Dorian said softly as they turned to leave. 

*******

Everyone came back to Haven in different states of unease and exhaustion. Abelas was in the middle of a bath when Maraas opened the door to their cabin and stopped at what she saw. Cullen was in a loose cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled all the way up, with a pair soft brown wool pants and his feet bare as Abelas sat in a large round tub, covered in bubbles and water. He was scrubbing at her thick black hair, and she was playing with the bubbles. Blowing them up and away into the air as she scooped them up. They hadn’t noticed her standing in the door. 

“And then what happened?” Abelas asked as she blew another round of bubbles into the air, trying to pop them as the floated back down to her. 

Cullen grabbed her hair and raked his hand on both sides of it, top and bottom. The soap fell away from her hair and into the tub. He reached down and grabbed a large bowl of water. He placed his large hand over his eyes and tipped her head back. The water washed away the rest of the suds, “Well, ah, I  _ forgot _ where I was in the story.”

“She met the wolf.” 

“Yes,” he said and placed the bowl down, twisting the ends of her hair to get the water out. It still had suds in it and he got up to fill the bowl with water that had been warming by the fire in a teapot, “she met the wolf. She was still on the road, basket held tight to her chest, and the wolf stayed in the shadows on the edge of the road, his eyes glowing as he watched and talked to her.” 

Abelas moved to lean on the edge of the tub, “Why did he want to eat her?”

“Because wolves get hungry too, Abelas.” Maraas said as she moved to sit in a chair and remove her armor. Cullen turned sharply, body ready for a fight. When he saw her, he relaxed and smiled at her. 

“Tama!” 

“My poor baby,” Maraas cooed at her as she undid her braid, “forced into a bath.” 

“I fell in the mud.” Abelas said, “My poor pony got scared and she threw me into the mud the pigs use. I smelled  _ bad _ .” 

“She was very brave,” Cullen said and finished rinsing out her hair, keeping her eyes covered, “she didn’t even scream when that poor old thing tossed her. But she did cry when she climbed out of the mud. But a nice warm meal and a bath has soothed those nerves.” 

Maraas smiled, “That’s good. Has anything changed since we’ve been away?” 

Cullen’s face seemed to fall as he brought over a bucket of warm water to wash the rest of Abelas off, “The mages are ready to close The Breach. They are as ready as they’ll ever be.” 

Maraas looked at Abelas who waited for Cullen to rinse her body as she stood. He didn’t look at her small body but he did wrap her quickly in a large towel, handing her off to Maraas who hugged her tightly as she sat in the chair. Cullen went to throw the bathwater out. Maraas rested her head on top of the wet hair of Abelas. She smelled like clean water. She let herself be hugged and rocked. Maraas bowed her head and her hair made a red curtain around them. 

“Tama? How was your trip?” 

“Long,” Maraas sighed, “the trip was very  _ long _ .” 

“You smell like the ocean!”

Cullen came back in, “Would you like to talk about this on the morrow?” 

Maraas lifted her head and smiled at Cullen, “Yes. That sounds like a good idea. And thank you, Cullen, for taking such good care of my little one. I was worried about both of you while I was away. Did you feed her? Did she drive you crazy? Are you both safe while I am away?” 

Cullen chuckled, “She is a good girl. She couldn’t drive anyone crazy if she tried.” 

“You haven’t been taking care of children long have you? Even  _ good _ children can drive you crazy.” Maraas said with a smirk. Cullen chuckled and Abelas gave her a pout. 

“I shall see you on the morrow. Both of you.” Cullen said softly. 

“Good night, Cullen.” 

“Night,  _ baba!”  _

Maraas made sure that Abelas was dry as she could be and tucked into a thick blankets, before she wiped down her body and climbed into the bed. She tucked Abelas into her side and gave a soft sigh as she fell down into the soft mattress and let sleep claim her. The Breach was calling to them, but it would still be there in the daylight. And when the light grey of dawn came, Maraas woke with a sigh. Abelas was sleeping on her chest and stomach, limbs brushing on the mattress. Maraas stopped a laugh from coming out of her. Abelas had a soft pillow and a half a bed to herself, but she would somehow find her way on top of Maraas, head resting on a unbound breast and limbs resting on her body. 

She held the small body to her own and got up, placing her in the warm spot Maraas had left. She made sure to cover her and she went to wash her face. Her hair was very long and it took time to comb it out and braid it once more. When the silver grey left the sky and became hazy pink and sleepy orange, Abelas sat up in the bed, her hair a fluffy birdsnest. She wiped at her eyes and got off the bed, reaching up to picked up and Abelas yawned as Maraas picked her up to held her over the wash bowl and splashed water on her face. Maraas put her down and began to comb out the tangles in that hair. Abelas rubbed at her eyes, trying to wipe away the sleep. 

Maraas tied the black hair up and out of the way, a high ponytail. After getting dressed they went to the tavern to have breakfast. Damen and Dorian looked like had been drinking all night, nursing hot cups of coffee, Orta and Sera were eating apples, Cullen and Cassandra were speaking softly as they took their seats across from them. The others might have still be sleeping. Solas came in a few moments later, as though he had been waiting for them. He took his own seat. Maraas put sweet cakes, fried potatoes and a few eggs on a plate and put it down in front of Abelas with a cup of warm cider. She poured herself a cup of coffee. 

Solas made himself a cup of tea and took a long sip, “How have you been, Maraas?”

“Well. And yourself?” 

“Worried about today.” 

Cullen nodded his head, “All of us are worried about today. So much can go  _ wrong _ .” 

“I think that the best plan of action would be to have all of the mages placed all around the Temple and have Abelas be right under the rift that caused The Breach.” Cassandra said softly, folding her hands on top of the table. Abelas ripped up her bread and used it to pierce the golden yolk of her egg, letting it soak into the bread before eating it. Solas sipped at his tea. 

“Did the mages say when they would be ready?” Maraas asked. 

“They want to eat their fast and then go to the temple. If all goes well, we should be back by sundown.” Cullen said with a mumble around his mug of coffee. Abelas reached for her cider, her little fingers only brushing the wooden handle. Cullen didn’t even turn his head as he pushed it closer to her. She drank it deeply. Maraas frowned. 

“Sundown? Why so long?” She asked. 

Solas answered, “The Breach may not go quietly. It is better to be  _ overly _ prepared than under. Abelas may need to stop and rest as well.” 

“Very well.” Maraas answered. They ate in silence and left for the temple when the sun had begun to climb into the sky. All the mages went, in rows of two, up the mountain. Abelas walked on her own, looking up at The Breach. It seemed to twist and jump, as if it knew that its end was coming for it. The voices in her head whispered and whispered and  **_whispered_ ** . 

She could never make out what they were saying, but she knew that they were speaking about the current state of affairs. She wondered if they knew that she was going to try and seal the hole once more. The Breach was large and horrid. She hoped that she could seal it this time. As all of the mages went to where they were needed, she looked at the mark on her, the rift hissing and snapping at them. The mark on her hand shivered and glowed and it had made her hand numb the closer she got to the rift. She hoped that she could help.

As Solas spoke to the mages, she looked around them. She could see Dorian and Damen on one side of the temple. Vivienne was on the other. Solas went to stand next to her. Cassandra and Maraas stood next to her. Cullen and the other Templars who did not go red waited outside. She took a deep breath and pushed all of her will and courage into the mark. 

The rift fought back. It snapped and twisted, pushing back at her. She pushed forward, digging her feet into the broken ground, gritting her teeth. She was  _ burning _ . Her blood was on fire. She could hear Maraas calling her name and telling her to stop. She couldn’t  **stop** . 

She had to close this. The voices were yelling now. She could hear them.  _ The gateway is open. We need to close the gateway. Close it, or they will follow. If they follow then even we can not be safe.  _

Abelas could feel tears collecting in her eyes. 

_ Close the gateway! Close it! CLOST IT!  _ **_CLOSE THE GATEWAY YOU STUPID LITTLE GIRL!_ ** She felt her heart stop, her lungs closing. She was not  _ afraid _ . The green glow of the mark changed and became a thick black ooze, that shot out and grabbed the rift by each of its edges, pulling and clawing at it.

She was not breathing and she was not afraid. She felt those long limbs of death, Falon’Din himself, his spirit and presence plastering itself on her back. She felt one hand wrap around her neck, nails pressing into her flesh. The other hand went into her chest, the skin shivering and becoming cold around the phantom limb. That hand held tightly to her heart, the fingers playing on her veins. Maraas was  _ screaming _ at her to stop. The mages had lost control of their magic, the rift and herself pulling at their magic.

She became angry. Why didn’t it close? She wanted it to  **close** ! 

“I command you to close!” She screamed at it and crushed her hand into a fist. The rift closed with a scream. She fell to her knees. The phantom hands held fast to her, she began to cough, the blood coming out of her mouth was black and smelled like rotting flesh. She was shaking. She was so  _ cold _ .

She felt the world tilt and she fell to the ground. She tried to gasp in a breath and it hurt. But the dead did not have a use for air. She could feel tears on her face, sticky and hot. She touched them and when she drew her fingers away they were red. Blood. She closed her eyes. 

*******

Abelas looked around her, confused. She was in a very nice room, and it was very warm. She was sitting in a high backed chair with soft velvet under her. She didn’t feel like she was in her own body. Someone else was in the room with her. She was sitting in a chair, and standing a few feet away from her was a very beautiful woman. On her face was the vallaslin of Sylaise. A door opened and in stepped a very tall man with the vallaslin of June. He was holding something in his hands. 

“This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric.” He told the woman. She touched it. The cloth looked smooth, like water. Abelas could not remember ever seeing a cloth in that color. Like the colors one could see when looking at oil in the sun. It frightened her to see the colors, because the colors  _ meant _ something. Something  **bad** . The cloth was held before the woman and she touched it. Abelas was not touching it but she could  _ feel  _ it, and it felt wrong and cold and it made her very afraid. The woman smiled at Abelas and then at the man. 

“Is it really mine?” She asked softly. 

The man nodded, something wrong with his eyes, but Abelas knew it, “A gift from the Master.” The man said, “The color will bring out the white in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Master has promised. Tonight you will look like a goddess.” 

A god. Abelas felt like she should know what that would feel like. Something was wrapping their fingers around her shoulders. Sharp and pointy nails dug into her flesh and she wanted to pull away but she knew that if she did the fingers would follow. Something  _ worse _ than those fingers would follow. As she looked at these people she knew them. In a way. 

She knew them because they had been with her for half a year and she had fed them, clothed them, even given them all that they asked. She knew that those things did not come free. There was a price for  _ everything _ . 

“Why are you so happy about the gown?” She asked them softly. They both turned to look at her and she saw what was wrong with their eyes. There was no color. It was nothing but a solid white. True blankness. 

The man answered, “We are happy to die. We know we go on to serve you, our master and protector, Falon’Din. We know that we will become shadow knights in your service.” 

She screamed. 

*******

Abelas preferred the hard stone of the window seat to the comforts of her bed and blankets. Abed the walls pressed close and the ceiling hung heavy above her; abed the room was her cell and Haven her prison. Yet outside her window the wide world still called. She liked to watch the other windows begin to glow all over Haven as candles and hearth fire were lit behind the diamond-shaped panes of tower and hall, and she loved to listen to the wolves sing to the stars. As of late she had been dreaming of wolves. She could almost understand them but not quite, but  _ almost _ . It was like they were talking in a language she had once known but had forgotten somehow. 

She had asked each of her visitors why the wolves howled like they did. 

“Who can know the mind of a wolf?” Blackwall said when Abelas asked him why they howled. Blackwall was busy with Cullen training the troops and thus it left him little time for idle chatter, but he made time to visit her and play with the wooden army he had made for her. Solas had gifted her paints and when they didn’t play they painted the dolls. She made one look like her  _ baba,  _ golden and red and fierce. She also asked him why he hadn’t made one to look like Tama. He had chuckled and said he couldn’t get her horns right. 

Abelas understood. The horns were like twin towers atop her head, twisting and twirling up and away from the red sea they had grown out of. She asked him to ask Cullen to read to her later. Blackwall said he would pass along the message. Maraas was busy with Roderick and his claims that her closing The Breach was a  _ sham _ . It had been closed though, two whole days while she had been sick, but it had been closed for a short while. A new plan was needed. More power other than Mages and their magic, but it showed that she could close it—she could—she only needed more power to do so. 

When Cassandra came to visit her, she asked her about the wolves. 

“It’s freedom they’re calling for,” Cassandra told her and had no love for wolves, “Wild things belong in the wild.” She would often come to sit and read in silence with her. Stories were often what Varric did and he did them well. Cassandra liked to sit and read and Abelas was pleasant company to have around. Cassandra had said as much, since Abelas was prone to diving deep into her own head often. Cassandra had grown up alone after her brother died and had been doted on her whole young life. She knew that sometimes being in someone's company but not saying anything was just as good as a very long conversation. 

Orta came by as well. She talked about her life before them. She talked about the cute girl in the tavern she liked to flirt with. Abelas didn’t understand why people acted like that. She understood love and loving someone, but she didn’t understand why people needed to kiss and hug and do other stuff to show that they  _ loved _ each other. She had stopped trying to understand. Maybe she would understand when she was older, she hoped. 

Vivienne came by with sweet cakes and soft hands. Abelas asked her as well. 

“They want to hunt,” Vivienne told her as she brushed out her hair, making it smooth as silk, her nails clean and sharp but her voice soft and gentle, “A wolf smells better than any man, darling. And like it or not they have caught the scent of  _ prey _ .” Vivienne was dressed in soft colors and hard leather. She had dressed Abelas in pastel colors of blue, made of soft cotton. She had demanded one of the servants to give her a bath with fancy oil that smelled like—of all things—jasper-berries. A sharp and demanding smell, but soft as well. Vivienne wore perfume of the same kind when she had to entertain at court, she said. 

Damen came in the late afternoon with a sweet cake and sweet words. It was a nasty trick to get her to take a sour tasting medicine that left her tongue tasting bitter until it was chased away by the sweet cake. He kept feeling her head and making a soft tutting noise. He had hoped that she was getting better, because Dorian wanted to ask her more questions. She smiled at him and asked him if he asked Dorian about himself yet. Damen had turned red and told her that adults did things much  _ differently _ than children, to which she had replied that adults were stupid and Damen only laughed and wished her well before he left. 

Sera didn’t think so when she came to visit her, she had her own idea about it, “Wolves howl at the moon, yeah? Look at the sky with the giant hole in it, they’re probably howling at that ‘cause of how bright that shite is. They probably think  _ it's _ the moon.” 

Maraas came in. She checked her temperature and felt along her throat. She made sure that she wore her thick and warm socks, even though Abelas didn’t like them. She put her in a thick blanket as she sat on the window seat. Maraas looked tired. Abelas gave her a long hug and Maraas hugged her back. She rocked her a little and then kissed her on the forehead. She left not long after, having more to do before she could come and sleep.  

When Abelas told Solas this he only laughed as he helped her paint her toys, “Your wolves have more wit and cunning than your friends give them credit for. They know truths that we have forgotten. They have not forgotten about blood, and fire. They remember many things, and none of them are  _ sweet _ .”

It was when Cullen came to read her a story for bed and found her sitting by the window, her hand cupped over her mouth and trying to howl, that he shook his head and lifted her away with a tut, shut the window and moved away as he pulled the curtains shut, “The hour grows late, and you should be in bed.” He put her in the bed and tucked her in tight, covers pulled up to her chin and smoothed. 

“I’m talking to the wolves,  _ baba.  _ And I don’t have to sleep if I don’t want to. _ ”  _ She told him as she wiggled out from under the covers and put her hands on her stomach atop the thick wool blanket. He raised an eyebrow at her and then shook his head as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“ _ All _ men must sleep, honey-heart. Even the once immortal elves slept, didn’t they?” He said and looked at her. She was not the same little girl. Her hair had became as black as tar, and it shined in an unnatural way. The markings on her face had gone, but now her eyes were different. They glowed now, subtle and soft. 

Like the mark glowed. She looked different in a way that he couldn’t describe. It was as though she had become a different person after the failed attempt of sealing The Breach. Abelas knew it too. She seemed to know many things now. She looked older and younger at the same time. She reminded him of Solas. 

Abelas gave him a very nasty look with no true malice behind it, “When I sleep, Death and I play riddle games, and I often  _ lose _ . I don’t like to play those games with him. He is of no help when I ask him questions. Even that old bag of bones wolf doesn’t have a word to offer me.” She sat up, her eyes bright as a thought entered her head, “Do wolves dream?” 

Cullen had many questions but he knew that Abelas would not be able to answer them. She knew and saw things long since gone. But she didn’t know how to explain them, for children didn’t explain things well. Cullen knew this and instead chose the safer route, “All creatures dream, Abels. Not as we do, but I think they dream.” 

Abelas picked at the blanket, “Do the dead dream?”

“It depends on who you ask,” Cullen told her, “In Nevarra they say yes, here in Ferelden we say no. Qunari have never said and I have never asked the Dalish. Tevinter is a yes and no, since each mage in power is different. The dead are happy as clams in a soft and quiet sea to  _ not _ answer the living.”

Abelas wiggled down into her blankets, “I think they do. I remember a story my Keeper used to tell us. It was a warning about Fen’harel and Falon’Din. I don’t really remember it. But I remember one line! She used to tell us, “Dead Falon’Din lay dreaming in his city of the damned.” It was a scary story though.” 

“Well,” Cullen said, “I know many a scary story. But you need rest and a scary story  _ won’t _ help with that. So, I will tell you a story my mother told me as a child.” 

“What’s it called?” 

“The rabbit who became real.” 

Abelas pulled the covers up, “Does it have a happy ending?”

“It does.”

******

She rubbed her head as everyone at the table yelled in their loudest voices, fingers pointing and teeth snapping. Orta didn’t know if she was worried one of the mages might send off a fireball in spite or if Maraas would jump the table to tackle the Iron Bull. Her money was on one of the mages. It seemed that everything came to a head as Solas and Cullen said the words no one wanted to hear right at this moment. 

“She could have  _ died _ trying to seal that rift and you want her to try again?!” Cullen snapped at them all. 

Solas snapped back, “Is  _ one _ girl's life worth the whole of the world?!” 

The room fell silent at that. 

“So what do we do then?” Orta asked as she rubbed at her face, “We sent the kid out twice to seal it and twice she has almost did it but failed. So  _ what _ do we do?” 

“The proper question isn't what we  _ should _ do,” Vivienne remarked, “the proper question is whether or not we are lacking a certain way to seal this rift. Abelas has proven that she can contend with it, she just can't win.”

“You think that the  _ problem _ is my child?” Maraas asked her tightly, her face pinched tight in anger. Vivienne shook her hand, waving one well manicured hand at the question, as though to wave away any ill-meant intent by her words. 

“The problem is not her holiness. The problem is her convictions.” Vivienne said in explanation. Damen and Dorian shared a look before Dorian spoke. 

His face was pulled into a look of angry confusion, “You think that a girl that young doesn’t have any conviction to seal the hole in the sky? What benefit does it serve  _ anyone _ to have demons running amok?” 

Blackwall came to Vivienne's side, his voice raised in defense, “I am sure she isn’t trying to place the blame on anyone.  _ Least _ of all the Herald.” 

“Like  _ Grey Wardens _ care about anything other than the blight and shite like that.” Sera snapped as she sat upon the top of a chair, her hands between her spread open legs, face sneering at them, “If you and miss fancy face don’t believe in the tiny Herald then why are you  _ here _ ?!” 

“The girl lacks  **faith** .” Vivienne said, her face calm and collected, like her voice. Under it was hard stone. Harder than iron, “She  _ believes _ in all of us, she believes that  _ we _ will be able to drive back the evil that looms over this world. She  _ doesn’t _ believe that she can do this though. She can seal smaller rifts, she is able to seal them because she has done so many times before. But The Breach is too large, too important and she fears that if she seals it, then she will no longer be important and that her life will be the price for the damages caused.” 

Solas said, “I agree.” he said it with a small bit of snide sneer, “Abelas is a child who has  _ childish _ fears. These fears may be blocking her own belief in herself of sealing a rift of such importance. It may be a better plan to build her self-confidence before making her try again.”

“Yeah,” Bull said with a snort, “the fear of  _ death _ is a childish fear.” 

“Death is nothing but the next step into your spiritual journey.” Solas said as he gripped his staff tightly. His knuckles were white. 

Maraas looked at him, “Though that is true, death should not come for children.” 

“Death comes for everyone. He does not care if you are a child or not. Saint, sinner, mother, father, surrounded by family, death in the field of battle, on the child bed. Death comes for us all, and he cares for  _ nothing _ except his own hunger.” Solas said softly. 

Before anyone else could say anything the whole building shook, the table seemed to jump a few inches across the floor. Sera was thrown from the chair, but was caught by Bull and placed back on her feet. Above them, their hanging light source swung as though someone had pushed it. A runner came in, gasping for Leliana. A maid came soon after him. She was flustered. 

“Sister Nightingale!” 

“Lady Adaar!” 

“The Breach is closed!” the runner said as he caught his breath. 

The miad look on the verge of tears, “Her small ladyship is gone, m’lady!” 

Orta and Damen shared a look as Orta said, “She wouldn’t.” 

“She already did.” Damen said softly. All of them ran out to look up at the sky, the late afternoon sun painting the sky into warm and soft colors. The Breach was gone. 

*************

_ Master…. _

The voice spoke softly and she jerked her head up and away from her book she was reading to look around her room, the covers of the bed pulled up to her chest. She sat all the way up and closed the book. She looked around, not seeing anyone who could have spoken aloud. She licked her lips and didn’t move. A shadow hand came from around the edge of the entrance hall, long fingers curling into their palm, slow and steady. She felt her whole body shiver. She pulled back the covers and waited to see what it would do. 

_ Master…. _

It called again, the shadow hand still curling into itself. She grabbed the small blanket that Maraas had given to her when they had first gone up that mountain to seal The Breach. She wrapped it tightly around herself, covering her head and ears. She was still dressed in her sleep shift, the fabric loose and open at her legs, letting the cold air of the room to play upon her flesh and up to her hips. She was thankful she wore thick pants under her shift. She walked slowly toward the hand and didn’t look at the face that had been erased. She gripped the hand, cold and dead and heavy in her own. 

_ Master...this way…. _

It lead her away from her room. The cabin she shared with Maraas. It lead her away from Haven and back up the mountain. No one saw them. No one stopped them. The path was empty and cold. Snow danced on her toes as the wind blew it down from the peaks. 

She could hear the wolves crying out. Small animals ran across the road and did not stop.  _ She _ did not stop. They walked in silence, the shadow saying nothing and she not asking questions. More shadows appeared, their face taken from them, their lives. They bowed to her as she passed them. No demons roamed these mountains anymore. 

The wind was all but dead when they came to the temple. The dead had been cleared away and given a proper send off. The corrupted lyrium had been smashed and burnt to ash. The temple was silent as a tomb. Above her, the sickly green of the Fade shone down bright as the sun. In the middle of it all, still standing despite everything, was Andraste. Her head was gone, floating above her because of the magic that clung to this place.

At the base of where she stood on her pillar was a man. Hair so fine and golden it glowed like starlight in a pitch black sky. He wore of cloak of shimmering colors, but under those colors she could see the black. Sunlight on oil and wet tar. The shadow tried to pull her toward the small wooden ramp that had been made to get down to the lower level easier. She pulled away from it. Or at least tried to.

It held fast to her and left a sticky black stain on her skin from where it had been removed before clamping down on her wrist. The shadow had to bend and twist its deformed body to speak to her, to look at her face. She could see them all over the temple. Tall and thin and so very  _ sickly _ looking. She could hear how hard she was breathing. She could feel how cold it was here. She didn’t want to go. 

_ Master...comes this way….hurry… _

She didn’t want to go, but she did. Her feet felt like lead and her stomach was bubbling. She felt sick. Falon’Din wasn’t looking at Andraste, she noticed as they got closer. He was looking up at The Breach. His face was wrong. He had nothing. 

No eyes, no mouth, no smile or lips or anything. Just weeping wounds of gold on his face that made up his symbol. His vallaslin had always taken the most time, it had seemed to her, right after Elgar’nan and Andruil. The marks had always been placed on such sensitive areas of the face. The shadow let her go and bowed low, on its knees and head pressed into the dirt as they came close to him. She didn’t like it when people bowed like that. She wasn’t any better than them, they didn’t need to bow. 

_ Master…. _

With a sigh the shadow was gone, but around them they all watched. Falon’Din turned to look at her. She looked right back. 

“Well, well, well. Look at  _ you _ ! You have come into your power well enough. How are you feeling? Woozy? Lightheaded?  **Sleepy** ?” 

She took a deep breath. He smelled like sunflowers and something much older and darker than that, “What do you want? How are you here?” 

He shook his head as he wagged a finger at her, letting out a  _ tsk, tsk tsk,  _ sound, “No, no, no. That is no way to speak to someone who has taken such good care of you. Don’t be  _ rude _ .” 

She glared at him, “I’m fine. How are you?” 

“I could be doing better. But for the moment I’m content.” 

“How are you here?” 

He laughed and moved as quick as a spider around her in a quick circle, “Am I really here or are you making me appear?” 

“That’s not an answer!” she yelled at him as she tried to grab onto his robe. It was sticky like wax and left a foul smell behind. Like rotting meat. Thick ropes of it dripped from her hands and she flung them away with a noise of disgust. He laughed lightly at her and she shrieked out, “You  _ never _ help me! You never give me  _ answers _ ! It’s always riddles and games with you! I’m so sick of it!” 

“I can give you answers if you ask the right questions.” 

“I thought you were the god of death not secrets!” she said and turned on her heel to leave. 

“And yet one can’t help but wonder,” he said to her back, “why in the world would a race of immortal mages would need a god of  **DEATH** ? It seems silly, really. I mean, being immortal, you should have no fear of me. Death. And yet, they asked for my favor just as much as they asked for the favor of Mythal and Elgar’nan.” 

Abelas stopped. She turned to look at him and he folded his arms in front of him. She licked her lips and then answered, “If you are who you say you are then you’ll tell me?” 

“I will. But I want your take on it.” 

“You were death because...because...this is  _ stupid _ !” 

“It is a simple question. If one has life and youth and power  **everlasting** , then would you need a god of death? For purpose would I serve?” 

“For our enemies?” 

Falon’Din laughed loudly, the shadows laughing as well. They stopped when he stopped, “ _ What _ enemies?! The humans of the Imperium came  _ AFTER  _ all of us were sealed away! So what enemies did we have, girl?” 

She glared at him, “We had to fight someone.  _ Everyone _ has been fighting  _ everybody _ for years. That’s basically all of history.” 

“So,” Falon’Din said slowly, “if we were the only ones able to fight, and no enemies of a foreign horde came until much later, then who did we fight against?” 

“N-nobody.” 

“Then that means your answer is wrong and I don’t have to answer you.” 

Abelas stomped her foot, “That wasn’t the deal!”

“We never made a deal. I asked you a question and you answered. I want you to explain your answer and you  _ can’t _ . So that means that there is nothing more to talk about.” 

“I can explain my answer!” 

“Can you?”

“I can!” she yelled at him, “ **IF** we were the only ones able to fight, and no one else was around...then…”

“Go on.”

Abelas shook her head, “No. That can’t be right.” 

“Context. What can’t be right?”

“Why would we fight ourselves?”

Falon’Din didn’t have a face but she could see what he was doing if he did have one. A bored look, eye at half mast as he looked at her, lifting one hand up to cup his cheek, balancing it on his other arm, “Why would people who have everything, and who can live forever, want to fight each other? It boggles the mind, truly.” 

Abelas shook her head, “You’re lying!” 

Falon’Din shook his head, folding his arms to his body once more, “Why would I lie, Abelas? How do  _ I _ benefit from lying to the only other person who can hear and see me when I speak to them?” 

At this, Abelas stopped her pacing, her whole body froze and she looked at him,  _ really _ looked, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. She took a step back and he followed with a step toward her, “Who else are you talking to?” 

“The only family I have that isn’t with me, locked away behind a magic mirror deep within this  _ damn _ city!” he hissed. The marking glowed red as he spoke and then faded back to gold, “But I think you already knew that. All of the elves who still believe in us know that. None of you want to admit it, but he is the  _ only _ one of us left who could even remotely help you.” 

“Could he…”Abelas folded her hands together, “I mean..could he seal the rift? With his magic could he seal the hole in the sky?” 

“Isn’t that what they have you for?” Falon’Din asked, “Isn’t that the reason your Qunari slave-mother lets you run amok?”

Abelas wanted to slapped him, “My Tama isn’t a  _ slave _ !” 

“Oh sweet soul,” he sighed and then he was quickly in front of her, holding her up off the ground by her neck, fingers tight on her skin. She held fast to his icy flesh, afraid to let go of him should he drop her. It was a long way down and his markings, she realized as she looked at him, were full of lyrium, “the things you don’t know would fill whole  _ cities _ . The Qunari might claim that their god made them but who made that god? I’ll let you in on a little secret; my dear, sweet sister made them.”

“S-s-sister?”

Falon’Din chuckled, “I did have so many sisters.” he leaned in close and whispered into her ear, “The goddess of Halla, Ghilan’nain. She made the Qunari in  _ her _ own image, in her own ideal picture of  _ perfection _ . Why do you think they have  **horns** ?” 

“You’re lying.” she said softly as he drew away. He put her back down on the ground and then pointed up into the sky. 

“As much fun as this little history lesson has been,” he told her, “we have much to do and little time to do it in. The Breach, as the humans have taken to calling it, needs to be sealed away. And quickly.” 

“I tried. I couldn’t do it.” 

“We do not have time for you to be afraid of your own power. The power that I gifted to you as an inheritor, not the power of the mark. You need to close this rift before your enemy gets here to kill you and turn this world which should rightly belong to  _ me _ into nothing but another faded wasteland of forgotten heroes and mistaken memories.”

“My enemy?” 

Falon’Din sighed and let his hand drop to his side, he got down on one knee and loomed over her, the golden light of his markings shining down on her, making the ground around her heat up and she had to raise her hand above her eyes to be able to see him, “Why is it this rift that once wept demons like an open wound is silent now, Abelas? Demons only fear other, stronger demons, so what is on the other side of  _ this _ rift that is making the rest of them too afraid to even attempt to leave this way? Your enemy has powerful allies, and you need to have stronger ones. If you do not seal this rift, then you have condemned them  _ all _ to a fate worse than death.” 

Abelas ducked her head, “I don’t want anyone to die. But I can’t seal the rift!” 

“And why not?” he snapped and stood to his full height. 

“I don’t know!” 

“YOU DO  **KNOW** ! SAY IT!”

“I DON’T KNOW WHY I CAN’T SEAL THE RIFT!” 

Falon’Din seemed to swell, the shadows dropping back and away and she watched as his skin fell away like ash and revealed to her a being of gasping souls, each other crying out for freedom was seen. His eyes, golden and terrible seemed to heat up the whole of the ground around her as he gazed at her. Terrible claws of metal loomed over her as he raised his hands. Upon his back, flared out, were owl wings and she was too scared to move. He slammed his hands down and gripped her tightly in them as he lifted her so very far away from the ground. He squeezed her and she tried to gasp in a breath. 

His whole being seemed to shake the world around her, the shadow crept closer at his feet and she could not look away from this liquid pools of golden light, his voice as it spoke was twisted and dark and seemed to boom out at different volumes, “ _ YOU KNOW WHY YOU CAN NOT SEAL THIS RIFT. IT IS THE SAME REASON YOU DO NOT WISH TO SEE ME. WHAT LIES IN THE BEYOND, WHAT WAITS WITH BAITED BREATH ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS BREACH, SAY ITS NAME AND YOU SHALL BREAK THOSE CHAINS WHICH BIND YOU.”  _

Abelas closed her eyes very tightly and whispered, “I’m  _ afraid _ . Is that what you want to hear? I’m scared of not being able to help my family. To help  _ anyone _ . I’m just a stupid kid, I can’t save anyone or help anyone. I can’t even save or help  **myself** . It was just...dumb luck that I got this mark. I’m n-not...I’m not brave enough to do this. I’m not brave enough to save the world.” 

Falon’Din slowly put her back down on the ground and turned back into his normal self, and he wiped away the hot tears that had started to fall down her face, “I have often found, Abelas, that the world is not saved by brave heroes who do not waver in their convictions. The world is often saved by those gripped tightly with  _ fear _ , but do not waver despite it. My brother...the story of how we were betrayed and seal away is more complex than you know. Fen’harel...my dear brother, he was afraid, Abelas. He did not want to do what he did. But we gave him little choice in the matter.” 

“You’re not lying, are you?”

“No. I  _ believe _ in you, Abelas. Your friends, your Tama,  **everyone** , believes in you because you are the only hope in this war. Do not let fear win—seal The Breach—and know that you are brave, even when you are too afraid to move or breath.” 

Abelas gave a little laugh as she wiped her face, “My  _ baba  _ tells some of the men that.” 

“What does he tell them?” 

“You don’t need to be brave all the time. But if you have seven second of  _ courage _ , you can do anything.” she said. 

“Then is the same not true for you?” 

Abelas looked up at The Breach and took a deep breath. As lifted her hand high above her head and forced her will into it. The green light shot out and raced to the open wound in the sky. It gripped it tightly and willed it closed. It did not budge at first and then all at once it seemed to sigh and close. Abelas put her hand down and turned to Falon’Din. He was gone, along with his shadows. She looked up at the sky and smiled, the afternoon sun playing in the clouds made her heart flutter in her chest. She began to walk back down the mountain, a smile on her face. 

***********

The party was in full force. Everyone was dancing and drinking. Theirs faces pulled into happy and bright smiles. Abelas sat upon a chair in front of the large bonfire, a large mug of cider in her hands as people came by to thank her. Maraas watched it all from the upper courtyard. She heard someone approach her from behind and was not at all surprised to see Cassandra. The Seeker watched with her for a few moments and then she spoke.

“Solas confirms, the heavens are scared, but calm. The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain; but this was a victory. Word of her heroism has spread.” 

Maraas drew her eyes away from her small ward and looked at Cassandra properly. She looked as though the whole weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Maraas did not feel that way. She smiled softly as her nonetheless, “This was a victory for all of us, Cassandra. Luck just happened to put her in the middle.” 

“A strange kind of luck, to be sure. I’m not sure if we need more or less. But you’re right, this was a victory of alliance. One of a few in recent memory. With The Breach closed, that alliance will need a new focus.” 

Maraas turned back to her small child, watching as Solas came to stand next to her chair. Abelas looked sleepy, but the excitement of the party was keeping her up. Maraas only nodded her head, “I agree.”  

Varric was telling a story, and Damen almost made his ale come out of his nose. Dorian slapped him on the back and Bull laughed as he coughed. Orta and Sera were dancing and singing off key at the tavern, who had kept their door open. Abelas could hear them from where she was sitting. Cullen and Blackwall had taken to leaning against the nearest house, sipping at their drinks, smiles on their faces. Everyone was finally able to rest easy. Solas came to stand next to the fancy chair they had given her.

She looked up at him and smiled, “How are you, Solas?” 

“I am well. And yourself?” 

“A little sleepy. But I don’t want to go to bed, it’s too much  _ fun _ right now.” 

“Indeed.” 

He was giving her a very odd look. She looked back at Damen, who was using the small cloth that Dorian carried around with him for his allergies, wiping away the ale on his chin. Dorian was making some kind of joke and Bull made a sexual one in return. Dorian smacked him on the arm and Damen chuckled at it. She looked back at Solas. She took a sip of the warm cider Cullen had gotten for her.

“Is something wrong?” 

“I am just curious,” he said, “as to what you did to seal The Breach so cleanly.” 

“I got over myself.” she said with a smile. 

Solas gave a quick laugh and shook his head, “I see. I am wondering how you did that. Most children need a steady hand to guide them. And yet you did it with no one to tell you how to do it. I wonder if you did not have some kind of help in the matter.” 

Abelas gave him a very level look, “How would know if I had help or not?” 

“I am a Fade Walker, Abelas. I see things most people do not even know  _ exist _ . I have seen battles both mundane and legendary in the Fade as I walked. I have seen the help that comes to you. The shadows which jump from corner to corner, to make sure that you are safe and hale in all the things you do.” 

She took another sip of her cider, turning away from Solas for a moment to watch the bonfire and then she turned back to him, “Damen is a Fade Walker. He doesn’t know those things. He doesn’t even like it when he sees things in the Fade.” 

“Perhaps Master Damen is too afraid to speak them aloud?” 

“It’s ok to be afraid. You just need to get over being afraid and  _ try _ . Even if you fail.” 

“Wise words. Did someone tell that to you.” 

Abelas looked down into her cider, a forlorn look on her face, “Ashihari.” 

“I think,” Solas said softly, “you are not being honest with me.”  

Abelas gave him a very stunning smile and said, “As far as you know.” and turned back to the fire in front of her. Solas let out a deep sigh. 

“If I give you reason to trust me will you tell me the truth?” 

“How do you think that will work out for you?” Abelas said as she took a sip of her cider. 

“Ask me anything and I will answer you honestly.” 

Abelas twisted her ankles until they snapped and popped and then folded her legs under her. She had changed into warm clothing, thick wool and cotton and had put on the red shoes Josephine had gotten for her. She thought for a moment and then asked, “What is your shirt made out of?” 

“Lambswool.” he answered as he leaned on his staff. 

Abelas didn’t even turn her head to look at him as she held her mug of warm cider in her hands, her tone and body soft and open, “I guess that makes you a wolf in sheep's clothing.” 

Suddenly the whole town was a riot of noise. Cullen threw his mug down as the alarm bells rang out in terror. Many of the men grabbed their swords as they raced out of the gates. From the mountain path leading up to Haven came lights and the sound of war drums. The light of torches could be seen as they came ever closer. Abelas jumped from her chair and ran to Maraas. Maraas passed her to Leliana and grabbed her weapon. 

Cassandra followed after with a muttered, “We must get to the gates.” 

Leliana pushed her toward the Chantry and into the waiting arms of Mother Gisle, who whisked her into the warm building. 

Cullen yelled, “Forces approaching! To arms!” 

As Maraas and Cassandra came to the gates they saw that Damen, Orta, Dorian, Bull and Sera, along with Solas, were all there. The others had gone to help the townspeople to hide inside their homes to defend the inner workings of the village. 

Cassandra came to a stop in front of the stairs leading up to Haven, the gates barred and shut tightly, “Cullen?” 

Cullen look at her, “One watchguard report. A massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

Josephine came to stand next to Cullen, her expression tight, “Under what banner?” 

Cullen gave her an equally tight expression back, “None.” 

“ _ None _ ?!” she asked with shock and they all turned to watch the the gates were hit again and again, a red light looking under the cracks. Something very  _ big _ and very  _ angry _ was on the other side. After the fourth hit something else hit the door and then it was silent—save for the war drums and alarm bells—on the other side. They all looked at each other. Maraas moved closer, hand on her weapon, ready to strike. Cullen moved after her. 

A voice, soft and apologetic and pleading called out from the other side, “I can’t come in unless you  _ open _ !” Maraas frowned at the gate and walked down the steps with sure feet. She threw open the double doors and beyond them was a heavy axe blade warrior. He took a few steps and then gave a low gurgle as his body shook with death shakes. He fell to the ground, face first into the snow and dirt. Behind him was...well. A boy. 

A very skinny and dirty looking boy with blonde hair and sad eyes. She walked right up to him and Cullen was not far behind her, sword at the ready. The boy had very thick and very long daggers, covered in red, held fast at his side. He kept looking around. Flinching. He put the daggers away and then looked at her, “I’m Cole. I came to warn you; to help. People are coming to hurt you, and her. You probably already know this.” 

“What is this? Who is attacking?” she asked him. 

His eyes seemed very far away, “The Templars come to kill you.”

Cullen snapped and moved swiftly at the boy, Cole, sword held in tight fist, “Templars?!” Cole jumped backed, and Cullen turned to look at Maraas, “ _ Is _ this the Orders respond to our talks with the Mages? Attacking blindly?!”

Cole—or rather his very large hat—ducked and turned this way this way and that, his eyes never staying locked on anything too long as he talked, “The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows  _ you _ . You took his Mages. There.” he said and pointed to the high hill in the distance. Maraas felt her face fall in shock as the biggest, red lyrium covered  **monster** with a human face came into view along with two smaller people at his side, “He’s very angry that you took his Mages.”

Maraas snapped herself out of her stupor and turned to Cullen who looked equally as shocked, “Cullen! Give me a plan!  **Anything** !” 

Cullen seemed to shake himself out of his own shock and answered her, “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster then we must control the battle. Get out there and use the siege equipment to hit the bulk of the horde. Use everything you can.” he turned back to Haven, “Mages! You have sanction to engage them! That is Samson, he will not make it easy! Inquisition, for the  **Herald** ! For your  _ lives _ ! For all of  **_us_ ** !” 

The whole army gave a roar of battle. 

*******

Abelas was waiting inside of Josephine's office, and she could see so many people coming in to pray and hide from the enemy outside of their gates. If she hadn’t been watching she wouldn’t have seen the shadow waiting on the other side of where everyone was trying to smash themselves together. It pointed a way to a point she couldn’t see. She got off of the chair that Josephine used and hovered in the door. It was pointing to a door she was not allowed to go through. They had taken Alexius beyond that door and she had not seen him since. She looked back at the shadow. It was still pointing to the door.

She went to it, pulling it open and came into a very small room with a staircase leading down it. She went down the stairs into the cool darkness and followed the dim torch light until she was in a room full of cells. Alexius was in one of them. He looked at her and she looked at him. Above them the whole room shook and dust fell onto her head. She threw up her arms to cover her head. Alexius gave a low chuckle and she looked at him. 

“I see that the Elder One is  _ finally _ here.” he said dryly. 

“The person who promised you a cure for your son?” she asked him as she dusted off her clothing and hair. 

Alexius gave her a glare, “He did  _ have _ a cure.” 

Abelas had overheard Dorian speaking with Damen when they had been back from Redcliffe for a few days about Felix being the first Grey Warden-Magister in Tevinter. He had passed the trial to become a Grey Warden, and it had “stopped” his blight, at least for the time being. Dorian was working on a cure. Orta had said that Grey Warden Mahariel—the twin to King Alistair's wife—was looking for a cure too. She hoped that they found it so everyone who was a Grey Warden could be normal again if they wanted. She looked down at her feet. 

“Why is he here?” she asked Alexius softly. 

“You shouldn’t ask questions you know the answer to. It’s impolite.” he sniffed. 

She frowned, “Is he here because of me?” 

“Why  _ else _ would he come to such a miserable little hamlet like this?” 

She looked around and the noticed a set of keys. She reached for them and her fingers were too short to reach them. She jumped up and smacked them. They fell to the ground and she picked them up before coming close to his cell. He looked at her. 

“I need you to do me a favor.” 

“After you  _ killed _ my son? I will only grant you a favor if it means you will rot in hell for what you’ve done.” 

Abelas frowned, “Did nobody tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” 

“Felix is alive.” 

He moved quickly and gripped the bars of his cell, “My Felix is alive?” 

She nodded, “He’s back home in Tevinter. He’s been writing to Dorian.” 

Alexius closed his eyes and then looked at her, “What favor do you need, girl?” 

“If I let you out of this cell, then you have to use your magic to look like me.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“So I can meet this Elder One once and for all.” 

Alexius laughed, “You won’t  _ survive _ .” 

“I know.” 

“You are not afraid of death?” 

“I’ve met him too many times to be afraid.” 

Alexius looked at her and then nodded his head, “Alright. I swear on what’s left of my honor, I shall do as you ask.”

*********

Everyone had been saved from the fires, the Templars driven back for the moment. Everyone had jammed themselves into the Chantry. A very beaten up and near death man was ushering them in. As Maraas passed him and Cole, who hovered near the man, she saw that it was Roderick. The doors closed behind them. Roderick fell into Coles waiting arms. Maraas looked around and saw Abelas, standing near the entrance to Josephine’s office. 

Cole’s voice drew her attention as he helped Roderick limp away from the door, “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to  _ die _ .”

Rodrick gave a dry chuckle, “What a charming boy.” 

Cullen touched her arm and drew her a small distance away from Roderick and Cole, “Our position is not good. That dragon sold back any time you might have earned us.” 

Cole spoke up, “I’ve seen an archdemon. I was in the Fade but it looked like that.” 

Cullen snapped, “I don’t  _ care _ what it looks like! It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.” 

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole said softly as held Rodericks hand, “he only wants the Herald.” 

Maraas gave a low growl, “He can have Abelas when I am cold and dead. And even then he might still have to fight me for her.” 

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, “If Abelas knew that she’d let him kill her. If it meant saving Haven and all of its people.” 

Cole only blinked very slowly at them, “It won’t matter. It wants to kill the  _ Herald _ . No one else matters but he’ll crush them, kill them, anyway. I don’t like him.” 

Cullen shook his head and lifted his arms in disbelief, “You don’t—” he turned to Maraas, “Maraas, there is  _ no _ tactic to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. If we could turn the remaining siege equipment—cause one last slide—we might have a chance.” 

Maraas folded her arms as the building gave a shudder around them, “We’re overrun. To hit the enemy we’d bury Haven.” 

“We’re dying.” Cullen said softly to her, “We can at least decided  _ how _ . Many don’t get that choice, Maraas.”  

Roderick seemed to stir in the chair Cole had set him in, and looked at him. Cole looked back and them seemed to be talking to each other. Cole looked behind him and then said, “Yes. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.” 

Roderick looked at Maraas, “There is a path, you wouldn’t know it unless you made the summer pilgrimage as I have. The people can escape, she must have shown me.  _ Andraste _ must have shown me so I could tell you.” 

Maraas looked at Cullen, “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?” 

Cullen gave a shrug, “Possibly, if he shows us the path. What of your escape?” Maraas only looked toward Abelas and then closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. The good of the many outweighed the good of the one. The only teaching she had held fast to from when she had been under The Qun. Cullen frowned and then tried to make his voice light, “Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way…” 

“Cullen…”

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance?” Solas asked as he approached them. His staff was gone. It must have been lost during the fighting. 

“How so?” Cullen asked. 

“Allow me to send the last hope for us into the mountain.” he said. 

“Solas,” Maraas said, “you might die.” 

“I doubt it.” he said with a smirk. 

“If you are sure, then I will not stop you.” she said. Solas only nodded. 

“Go! Quickly!” he said and turned to the door. As it shut behind him Maraas felt a heavy sorrow. She went and picked up Abelas who shoved her hands away and instead held them. She didn’t question it. They worked hard to make sure everyone was getting out. Many of the mages had sent up magelight to light their path as they went along. They tried to move animal and equipment in the snow. It was slow going. As she helped Bull and Cullen move a stuck cart she heard a voice she didn’t think she would hear a few yards in front of her. 

“Do not stop! Keep  _ moving _ !” Solas called out as he used his magic to help move objects from their path. She let the cart go and went to him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“ _ Solas _ ? How did you get in front of us?” 

He frowned, “I was in the Chantry long before you, Maraas. It is not so difficult to think I would be ahead of you as we try to outrun the Elder One.” 

She shook her head, “I just spoke to you.” 

“That can not be. I have been here.” 

Cole spoke up, “The girl came and asked me to do this and now she is dead. I should not have agreed to this.” Maraas turned and looked at Abelas. Her eyes were wrong. She went over and snatched the girl up by the front of her shirt. 

Abelas smirked and slowly melted into Alexius, “Figured it out did you? Your  _ Herald _ is back in Haven.” 

Behind them the snow came crashing down onto their city as it burned. 

*************

It was easy to avoid the Red Templars. They wanted to watch everything burn. As she ducked and turned around corners to avoid them, she felt the magic that Alexius had used fade away. She was small again when she pushed her body into a hole in the wooden fence that had once made the wall of Haven. It was high on the hill that she came out at, and below her was the large slingshot thing that Cullen, Blackwall, Cassandra and the soldiers had been working on. Cullen had said that it could take large rocks and throw them into stone walls, bringing them down. It had been loaded and then left, dead bodies near it.

The soldiers who had been trying to help had died in their service. It was facing the wrong way though. She had to squint against the burning light of the fires as they jumped from tree to tree, to the wooden fence and onto the wooden houses. All of her wooden soldiers were burning, just like the real ones. The giant slingshot was made of wood too though, and if if caught on fire then she wouldn’t be able to do anything to help. She looked at it as she made her way down the hill and then saw a wheel that was a part of it. Two of them really. 

One soldier had died from an arrow in her throat, defending one of the wheels. That one must have been the one to lower the basket like thing that held the big rocks. The other one must have made it move. She slipped on a patch of ice and landed on her butt, slipping down into a snowbank and she gave a low hiss as she rubbed at her abused flesh. She got up quickly and shook the snow from her clothing as she went to the other wheel. She pushed against it and it gave a low groan at trying to be moved. She pushed again and it moved a few inches, the machine moving with it. She was out of breath.

The fire was getting closer and overhead something flew by. She ducked and crawled under the machine. It was dry. The large flying shadow turned in the sky and went somewhere else. She didn’t have a lot of time. She crawled back out and pushed with everything she had. The wheel gave a few moans and groans as the metal moved, the machine turning slowly toward the snow covered mountains.

The wheel seemed to hit something within itself because it soon became easy to turn and the machine moved and moved as she turned the wheel. When the wheel halted the machine had turned all the way, looking at the mountain. She smiled and then looked for what made it fling the rocks. A chain on the side. As she moved away from the wheel the shadow came back and landed in front of her. She took many steps back as a dragon, sickly looking and foul smelling and covered in red lyrium. She had to cover her ears as it roared at her and its breath—toxic and bitter—washed over her.

Something just as large landed behind her and she turned to look at a face she had seen before. She knew that she knew this man, twisted and deformed, covered in red lyrium and evil eyes glaring down at her, but she didn’t know from where she knew him from. She took a few steps away from him and the dragon gave a low hiss at her. She looked at the chain. If she could run for it then she could set the rock flying and bury them all. She doubted that she would be able to run those last few feet and pull the chain down to send the rocks flying. 

“ **Enough** !” the monster said and sent out a wave of red magic at her, knocking her down to her side. She quickly got up again and he sneered at her, “Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken no  _ more _ .” 

“What are you? Why are you doing this?” she asks. She is afraid and wanted to run. But she knows she  _ can’t _ . She wants to act brave and strong like how everyone else is all the time. She can’t do that either because she is a tiny elven girl with a magic hand and little to no control over her own budding magic. 

She doubts he will listen to reason when he has set her world on fire. 

So instead she wants to know. If she knows and she dies then she can find Solas when he sleeps and tell him, and then everyone will know what this monster is. They will know  _ why _ he is doing this. Even if she dies, at least her spirit can pass on what she has learned. She hopes that he will tell her the truth. She hopes she doesn’t die. She prays for  _ courage _ where she has none. 

“Mortals beg for  _ truth _ they can not have. It is beyond what  _ you _ are. What  _ I _ was. Know me. Know that I am what you  _ pretended _ to be. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is,  _ Corypheus _ .” he pointed one of his long twisted looking claws at her, his eyes shining with an inner insanity, “You. Will.  **_Kneel_ ** .”

She shakes her head as she moves slowly toward the chain, “This doesn’t make sense! Let me understand!” 

“Your **understanding** is not required. If you gain it, then consider yourself missed. I am here for the anchor, the process of removing it,” he said as he held the orb she had touched before and it gave off a sinister red light, a softer green glow, like her mark, trying to fight away from the red, “begins _now_.” he used his other hand to shoot out more of the red magic and the mark jumped and twisted up her arm, making it jerk as she held it back and moved toward the chain, “It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the making and instead of dying you _stole_ its purpose. I do not know how you **survived** , but what marks you as touched, what you fail to use, I crafted to assault the very _Heavens_. You use the anchor to undo my work. _The_ _ghall_.” 

Abelas cried out, tears running down her face as the mark was pulled and pulled and  **PULLED** . It was like he was trying to rip her whole arm off, but she grit her teeth and tried to move toward the chain, “What is this thing even used for?! What does it do?!” 

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would **always** come for it.” he answered her and moved toward her, reaching down and crushing her wrist as he lifted her up by her marked arm. She tried to kick out and hit him with her feet and he kept her at arm's length, his face a cruel parody of human features, “I once breached the Fade in the name of _another_ , to serve the old gods of the Empire, in person. I found only chaos and corruption. _Dead_ _whispers_ ; for a thousand years I was confused; **no** **more**. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To _correct_ this blighted world. Beg that I succeed. For I have _seen_ the throne of the gods and ** _it. Was. Empty.”_**

Abelas was flying for a moment, the air rushing past her ears. She slammed into the wood and metal of the machine, the chain ringing as she fell down near it. She felt something break,  _ truly _ break, and she cried out in pain. She tried to push herself up and saw that her right arm as broken. Her wrist was bent at an angle it shouldn’t be able to turn. It hurt so much. The chain gave a final noise as it settled near her and she looked at it. 

She could pull the chain. She pushed past her own pain and stood on shaking legs, ripping her too large shirt at the seem to make a wrap, and quickly bound her wrist. It hurt more than when she broke it. The monster stalked closer to her. She held the chain with her marked hand and tried to will her own weak magic into it. To break and decay, but she waited. She had to wait until they sent up the sign that they were high above where the snow would come crashing down. 

The monster hissed at her, this Corypheus, “The anchor is permanent. You have  _ spoiled _ it with your stumbling. So be it, I will begin again. Find another way to give this world, the nation and  _ GOD,  _ it requires.” behind him the sign went up, almost lost among the fires and Abelas sent her magic into the chain, praying for it to break quickly, “I will not suffer even an  _ unknown _ rival. You must die.” 

“I don’t plan on dying today.” she said and the chain snapped, the rocks went flying and a shadow hand grabbed at her shirt and she looked down at it. A hole in the wood. A way  _ out _ . She dove down into it as the snow came running down the mountain, as loud as thunder. 

************

Damen could feel the tears on his face as he helped an older mage limp along beside him through the snow. She was holding her side, the blood was going to leave a stain. Ahead of him, Cullen and his men helped move the heavy carts and push at the animals—tired and afraid—to get them to move. Behind him he could hear Dorian and Vivienne casting fire runes down into the snowy path, hoping that Abelas would still be able to find them and follow them home. Orta and Sera had taken to scouting for food. It had been three days. They hadn’t stopped. 

_ Maraas _ hadn’t stopped. 

She held her weapon in an iron grip, her eyes haunted and lost, expression lost and far from here. Her hair was coming undone from its braid and the red strands were waving at them all. A banner to follow as she went further and further on this once holy path to many a pilgrim in search of enlightenment. Solas was only a few feet in front of him, eyes glowing dimly. Fade walking while awake was risky, but he hoped to find even some trace of Abelas in the Fade. He hadn’t found any yet but all of them held out hope. The sun was rushing to sleep and the wind was cruel as it pushed into their tired bodies. 

Cassandra had tried to make Maraas stop and rest but the larger woman had merely shooed her away and kept going on the path. Damen was afraid that she would stop when she was  _ dead _ . Dorian came to fall in step with him, arm hooked under the older mages other arm, using his magic to ease the pain. 

“She is going to kill herself and I do not think our dear Commander Cullen will take kindly to it if I bring her back with my necromancy.” Dorian said softly as though Maraas would hear them from so far away. Damen only looked at him quickly before once more looking down at his feet as they tried to move over the thick snow in front of him. Abelas was so tiny. Would she be able to move quickly in this snow? Be warm? Be safe? 

He had seen and heard the wolves as they followed them. It was the reason Cullen and his men were trying to make the animals move. If they died here, the wolves would have a feast and no one to even find the bones. 

“You might be right, Dorian. Cullen might actually kill all us if Maraas dies. I know he’s barely holding it together, since Abelas...well. It doesn’t matter much. Maraas has her reasons anyway, for being like this now that Abelas is gone. I just hope she comes back from that place in her head.” he answered. The older mage in their arms gave a low groan. 

“Losing one child—while I’m sure is painful—doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world!” Damen gave him a look and Dorian rolled his eyes, “Fine, it is the end of the world but that is no reason to mope at the present moment.” 

Damen whispered, “23.” 

“I’m sorry?”

Damen took a deep breath in from his nose and let it out the same way, “What I’m about to tell you, you do not  _ ever _ tell another living soul, do you  _ understand _ me, Dorian Pavus?” 

“I swear on my honor.” 

Damen licked his lips and switched over to their mother tongue. No one else needed to know this, “Maraas has lost 23 children in less than fifteen years. Abelas is number 23. She’s been trying to hold it together for a long time, Dorian. This though—what Abelas did—how we just lost everything to an Archdemon and some evil mage  _ darkspawn _ from Hell, this might be too much for her.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” 

“I know. It’s not your fault. But we need to stop soon. Too many are wounded and this nonstop movement to a war drum might actually kill them.” 

Dorian gave a snort, “Cullen will make his men stop when his lady stops. I doubt she will anytime soon.” 

“Abelas could make her stop.” 

Dorian reached over to squeeze his shoulder, hand cold and rough even through the wool cloak Damen wore, “She’ll catch up, Damen. I’ve seen that little girl climb up rocks larger than dragons and not even bat an eye at the height in which she jumped off. I don’t think she knows how much courage she has. She’ll come back. She came back from the  _ Fade _ ! How many living people can say that?” 

“True. If she can come back from the Fade after leveling a mountain, I doubt  _ snow _ will stop her from coming back. I hope so anyway.” 

“Cassandra and Cullen would tell us to pray.” Dorian said and removed his hand. Damen smiled at him, tired and true and Dorian returned the smile. 

“I think someone already answered our prayers, Dorian. She just needs a little time to catch up to us. If we stopped, it might help her to do just that.” 

****************

Sera didn’t know Abelas, not really. She knew she was a kid, sweet and cute and kind. But all kids on some level were. Orta had been cruel in all of her kills since they had gone to get food. Nugs, rabbits, birds, some deer. Sera didn’t know Abelas, but she  _ knew _ Orta. As they waited for a deer to come by and spring their trap she poked Orta with her foot. 

“Oi.” she said and Orta looked at her, “The glowly kid will be fine. She survived a bunch of demon shite right?” 

“Walking out of the Fade because some magic mage bullshite protected you isn’t the same as walking away from getting buried  _ alive _ .” Orta said and as she breathed out harshly, the setting sun colored her breath in gold and orange. Sera scowled at her and punched her in the arm. Orta gave her a punch back and Sera gave her a firm push. Orta almost fell into the snow and instead gave Sera a glare. 

“Look,” Sera said and placed her closed fists on her hips, leaning down to glare at Orta, “you know the Herald, and I know what I know I know and what I know I know is never gonna change. So you know what I know? I know that something bigger,  _ someone _ bigger is up there and that demon man thingy wanted to kill your little Herald. But what I heard was that she survived the start of the end of the world and was no worse for wear when she came out of all the demony, magic, green light show called the Fade. So I know that you that Abelas is gonna be  _ fine _ . She might be cold and tired when she finds us again, but if she can survive the start of the end of the world, then a girl like her can do almost anything and  _ nothing _ in this world or the next is never gonna stop her. So stop looking so down, woman up and grow the fuck up—‘cause right now, you’re not helping anyone by being a miserable  _ twat _ —not even yourself, get me?” 

Orta gave a snort and then started to laugh. The laugh turned into tears and she tried to wipe them away with her sleeves, “I have to be strong right now, all right? I don’t have time to cry and shite because people are  _ depending _ on  _ me _ to be strong. I can’t...I can’t fall apart of them right now, Sera. I get  _ you _ , I do. But I gotta be strong and I can’t let myself feel  _ anything _ , not until we can rest.” 

“That’s bull!” Sera snapped, “Being strong ain’t about being not able to cry when you’re feeling like shite! Being  _ strong _ means you cry and still get things done, cause you, bottling all that negative shite up is like taking an angry beehive and stuffing it in your heart and none of that is good for  _ anyone _ . Abelas needs you to be strong, that nervous ball of energy Damen needs you to be strong, Maraas—who looks ready to fall apart at the  **seams** —needs you to be strong, but you can’t be strong if you fall  _ apart _ before anything gets done!” 

Orta wiped under nose—and then at the tears—none of them would stop. Sera got to her knees and wrapped her in a tight hug. Orta buried her face into Sera shoulder, “You gonna be sticky and wet.” 

“I like being sticky and wet when I have a pretty girl on top o’ me.” Sera said. Orta laughed and sobbed at the same time. 

*************

Old habits died hard. When she had been a Tamassran, she had gone—along with the ten children she was in charge of. The heat of Par Vollen warm on her feet as she lead them, and they followed her without question—to the Temple to pray. To learn the Qun. She still prayed. Abelas had seen her once, and asked what she was doing. Prayer it seemed, was not an odd concept to a Dalish raised child. 

She had gotten on the floor with Maraas and they had prayed. Maraas in Qunlat and Abelas in soft and childish Elvhen. She was praying now as she walked heavily through the snow, the cold winds pushing into her, trying to make her stop. She  _ couldn’t _ stop. If she stopped then the darkness would creep in close to her heart and kill her. She was speaking under her breath, the wind hiding her words. Cassandra had tried to make her stop a few times and she had told her only a little farther. 

That was long ago. Cullen is now next to her—eyes just as haunted and distant—but worried about her. He had lost a child too. Abelas had been  _ their _ child. What did they do? They had made someone new. Not truly her and not truly him.

A child born from an ancient race, raised by a disgraced Qunari and a disgraced Templar. A sweet and timid girl who had been buried alive. Cullen took her hand and she could feel her heart squeezing into itself. She took a large breath, it hitched and broke and she spoke only a little louder, just enough for Cullen to hear. She had heard the prayers he and the others often said. He would learn a few of hers now. They gave her a sense of comfort in this time of dread. 

“A traveler asked the Ashkaari : "What was your vision of our purpose?" The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story." A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea. The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world. The sea drowns its feet with every tide. The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. 

“The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back. The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is  _ changeless _ . Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against. The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea.

“And is whittled away with each wave. It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself. Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed. If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you. Do not fear the dark. 

“The sun and the stars will return to guide you. You have seen the greatest kings build monuments for their glory. Only to have them crumble and fade. How much greater is the world than their glory? The purpose of the world renews itself with each season. Each change only marks a part of the greater whole. The sea and the sky themselves: Nothing  _ special _ . Only pieces.” 

Cullen watched her for a long moment—honey gold eyes dim and tired and then he spoke—firm and soft and just for her and their lost child, “Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of Heaven. Field and forest shall burn, the sea shall rise and devour them. The wind shall tear their nations from the face of the earth. Lighting shall rain down from the sky. They will cry out to their false god and find silence.” 

She could feel her knees getting weak but as Cullen finished speaking his own prayer, she told him another of her own, “Doubt is the path one walks to reach faith. To leave the path is to embrace blindness and abandon hope.” 

Her body was starting to slow its pace. The prayer helped but it would not change what had happened. Abelas had given her  _ life _ to save many others. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one. She could feel tears in her eyes. Cullen held her hand tightly in his own and she could feel how they were both shaking from the cold. She had to stop. 

To  _ mourn _ . She finally came to a halt, and she hid her eyes from him as the tears came hot as fire. They spilled like acid down her cheeks and into her clothing. She hope that they left stains that would never be washed away. Cullen hugged her tightly and she let her sword drop, the weight too heavy to carry anymore. She could feel her body shaking as she wept. Cullen just held her close. 

“Doubt, as I have been told, is a test of faith. But I do not  _ doubt _ that our child will come back to us, Maraas.” he said and kissed her hand sweetly before moving away to bark orders to set up camp. They had stopped in a small clearing, the rocks reaching high to hide them. She wiped her eyes and picked up her sword. She had no time to mourn. Abelas would come back. 

She had survived too much already to be dead by a simple act of heroism. 

*********

The snow was getting too heavy to move through. She had seen fire runes, old and fading in the snow. Animal tracks. She was so  _ close _ . Her eyes were heavy and her arm was in so much pain. She could feel herself getting colder. She wasn’t even shaking anymore. 

What had she been told about the cold? It hurt to think. She looked behind her, her path a twisting path, a jagged line. Glowing eyes watching her from afar. Wolves. She was prey, easy and alone. Falon’Din had taken to walking next to her, the shadows snickering as they kept pace. 

The wolves could wait to eat her, once the shadows and Falon'Din were gone. They didn’t talk to each other as she stumbled through the snow. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She tripped in the snow, and her arm gave a harsh scream of muffled protest from under her body. She turned her head so she could breath, the ice and snow crawling like bugs down her throat. She was so  **tired** . But she had to find them.

She  _ had _ to. She got to her knees and the whole world spun. She blinked for a long time and then the fire pit came into focus. It still had red embers. A fresh fire pit. She got to her feet, a new energy in her and she began to walk again. The hill was thick with snow, and she felt the energy draining out of her. 

She could see a dim glow not too far away.  _ Fire _ . She heard voices coming toward her. She could hear Maraas and Baba. Her mouth was so dry. Her body failed her and she fell to her knees—the wind blowing harshly on her as familiar shadows came running for her—calling her name. Everything was blurry and she lifted her head with great struggle. 

Baba was there, his eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. She smiled at him and lifted up her only good arm, making some noise. She was so  _ tired _ . Her took off his fur mantle and wrapped her tightly in it and lifted her into his arms, placing kisses on her face. Tama was suddenly there and too much warmth. It was like being on fire. She tried to push away from them but they held her tight.

She opened and closed her eyes so often and it felt like she was flying. Damen. Orta. Cassandra and Leliana. Josephine and Blackwall. Dorian and Bull. Sera and the odd boy they had picked up in Haven. 

Vivienne and then Solas. Falon’Din and Fen’harel. Blurry images of golden cities with white marble and immortal people. Haven burning to ash. Argument and prayer and singing and hushed words. A safe place. War and peace.

She was so cold and then too warm and it was so hard to breath. Then a word that seemed to echo in her head. 

Skyhold. 

Skyhold. 

Skyhold. 

***************

Solas was watching the path Abelas had come up from, and he felt Flemeth come to stand next to him. He didn’t turn his head to speak to her. 

“That little girl is nothing like, Falon’Din.” Flemeth sighed.

“You’re right,” Solas said softly, “she’s nothing like him. She is better than he was at her age. I wonder what kind of hero she’ll grow up to be.” 

“A hero who can live to be old and grey, I hope.” 

Solas finally turned to look at her, “Flemeth...we both know that if you live long enough as the hero, you become the villain.” 


	11. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elvhen people have been betrayed and cheated. Why not keep their secrets?

Cullen tied off the string and began to close the cloth as he worked. Sewing was a skill he had learned from his mother and had mastered as a young man in Templar training. Maraas was holding Abelas—humming low in her throat—hands smoothing over the soft and fever hot face. Cole, the boy, would come in silent as a shadow, wringing his hands and hopping from foot to foot but never really knowing what to say would leave just as quickly as he came in. Cullen had begun to make a soft toy for her. The wooden toys had burnt to ash in Haven. A soft toy would not be forgotten should they need to run again.

She had liked his story about the rabbit who became real, and she would like this toy. Maraas had fallen asleep, light and soft, ready to be up should Abelas need her. Cullen had given his red fur mantle to her, covered and wrapped up tight, it was big enough to be used as a hood. Cole was there then—on the other side of the cot—his watery blue eyes looking right at him. He stopped sewing. It was only half finished. The eyes hadn’t been sew in yet.

He would have to take two of his own light grey buttons for the eyes. Cole held out his hand, it was shaking as he held his closed fist over Maraas and Abelas as they slept. Cullen stuck the needle into the junction of the shoulder and held his hand out. Cole dropped two bright yellow buttons into his hand. He looked at them and then at him. Cole ducked his head—his large hat hiding his face—he wrung his hands again, taking a step back. His voice was very soft, the fires outside casting a shadow puppet show behind him and Cullen knew it was the same shadows behind him on the other side of the tent. 

“The rabbit became real because it was  _ loved _ . Being  _ real _ is painful. But the pain is good, because the pain isn’t really painful, it's love. Like you, and them. It’s love. You love them, but the love is  _ too _ much sometimes, and too little. So you are making a rabbit, hoping that it will become real for her—because you don’t want her to be alone ever again. You are a good man, Cullen Rutherford.” 

Cullen rubbed the buttons together, not meeting the boys eyes, “Most would say you are wrong. I am not a good man. I have done  _ horrible _ things and done even less to stop those who were much crueler than me. I was  **part** of that  **_abuse_ ** .” 

“But you are trying to make amends.” Cole said desperately, soft eyes pleading, “Abuse is the crime the strong  _ force _ upon the weak. And you are right; abusers are  **never** given their just punishment, for the damage they do.” 

It was Maraas who spoke—causing Cullen to snap his head up to look at her—her grey eyes at half mast, “Those who witness abuse without seeking retribution for the harmed pay a penalty. Your  _ own _ pain mitigates your failure to act earlier, Cullen, but it may not have been enough of a payment for witnessing the pain of  _ others _ .” 

“I know. My pain, it was something that will haunt me for all my days, but it is not an excuse to the reasons why I turned a blind eye in Kirkwall.” 

Maraas moved, slow and soft so Abelas would be able to sleep, placing her hand on his, covering the buttons in his hand, “You have learned, and you are trying to be a different man than you used to be. The you that you  _ used _ to be is far from you  _ now _ , and although you are not yet the man you  _ wish _ to be, you are closer to being him than when you started.” 

“Thank you.” Cullen said and squeezed her hand, and he turned to speak to Cole, who was gone. Soft and silent as a shadow. He looked down at his hands as Maraas settled back into sleep. Where had he gotten these yellow buttons? They would be good the eyes of the rabbit he was making for Abelas. 

*****************

The light in the sky grew clearer as they went forward. Suddenly they came out of the trees and found themselves in a wide circular space. There was sky above them—blue and clear to their surprise—for down under the forest roof they had not been able to see the rising morning and the lifting mist. The sun was not, however, high enough to shine down into the clearing, though its light was on the tree tops. The leaves were all thicker and greener about the edges than they had seen since being below the cloud line of the mountains. It had been many hard days of deep snow that had never been touched by anything other than the wild animals. 

It had been the cold that had fought them every step of the way. 

Wheels caught on rocks that had been hidden for years. The animals and truly—the whole of the army—were struggling for breath as the air became thinner and thinner. Though this was a lie. Qunari and Elves were built  _ vastly _ different from their human counterparts. Thicker and wider ribs meant that their lungs were able to take in little air and thrive on it. Abelas slept still, for she had been found long before the cold-sleep—or hypothermia as the healers called it—could set in. But she was a small child who had been alone for a long time, eating little and sleeping less in fear of demons and slave-catchers.

Her body was thin and weak, even after months of being with them. The cold-sleep had almost robbed her of life, and now a fever had set in. She was awake for small moments of time, eyes glassy and mouth slow. She was happy to be home, and Maraas hovered. Cullen did as well, but all of the Inner Circle did. The child who would save them had almost died in an attempt to buy them time. She was a hero, even if she did not want the title given to her.

Solas and Cole, the odd boy(Demon? Spirit? Who could say when so many had a different opinion) talked to her sleeping form. No one bothered them, for the odd boy and the odd mage might know something that they did not. Like Skyhold. Solas had seen it in dreams, when he had been younger and walking along this path in the summer months. An old castle, held by the once Immortal Elves for untold eons, then briefly by the Dwarves as they tried to expand their empire, and finally—for a few short generations—even human nobles before the cold drove them away. 

Abelas had been awake for that conversation and said it was a good idea. Who would come to look for the dead in a forgotten place that had been hidden to begin with? And so they went—a dying snails crawl to a place where the sky was held back—once long ago. Cassandra walked with Cullen in the front of their march; defenders for the people in front of them. Blackwall and Bull were on either side of Cullen and Cassandra. Cullen kept looking back, as Abelas was held in the arms of Damen, covered in his fur. His red mantle a bright beacon in a sea of white and green and grey. 

Maraas was helping Sera and Orta hunt for food. Solas lead the way to this place called Skyhold. As Cullen turned to look back once more—Dorian now leaning down to talk to Abelas, who Cullen hoped was awake—and Blackwall gave one of his coughing laughs. Cullen turned to look at him. 

“What is it?” Cullen asked him with a raised eyebrow. 

Blackwall gave him a smirk, “I just thought of a song, and it has to do with red and gold lions, and little girls who never have to fear them. But the lords who rival them, well, that’s the  _ best _ parts of the song.” 

Bull gave a laugh and slapped Cullen on the back, almost sending him into the snow, “I know that song! It fits you like a glove, Curly.” 

Cullen glared at him, a sneer on his face, “That is a  **lie** .” 

Cassandra began to hum and Blackwall—along with Bull—began to sing softly to the tune, “And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know. In a coat of gold and a coat of red, the lion still has claws.” 

Cullen threw his hands up, “I am walking  _ behind _ you lot.” and he slowed his pace to catch up to Dorian and Damen. Bull gave a snort. 

“He says he’s gonna walk behind of us,” he jerked his thumb behind him as Cullen took Abelas from Damen and Dorian moved to keep in her line of sight, Abelas holding her stuffed rabbit toy close to her face, “and he drops back to  _ coo _ at his kid.” 

“Cullen is a man who has been through much. The life of a child is a  **heavy** loss on many shoulders, and even harder on the shoulders of those who care for the child.” Cassandra said with a smile on her face, her scar moving until it was thinner on her lower jaw. 

“I imagine that any father would be ready to snatch his child out of the way after she’s almost died.” Blackwall said with a sniff. 

“ _ Twice _ .” Bull added. 

Cassandra nodded, “She has indeed gone through much. But she is stronger than all of us.” 

“That might be true but you have a biased opinion.” Blackwall chuckled. 

“I do not!” Cassandra said with a gasp. 

“You do.” Bull yawned. 

“Prove it.” she snapped. 

Blackwall and Bull looked at each other and then Bull looked at her, “It’s cause you can’t stop glaring at Varric ever time he starts a story but Abelas will sit through the  _ whole _ thing—sober—and ask him a million questions once it's over. You can’t even last five seconds and anyone who can outlast  _ you  _ must be strong.” Bull said with a smirk at her. 

“That doesn’t prove—” Cassandra started. 

“You said so yourself when you had downed half a bottle.” Blackwall intoned. 

Cassandra gave them her trademark noise of disgust and walked faster. 

**********

The south-eastern side of the ground was shaped in such a way that the ground fell very steeply, as it the slope of the hill were continued far down under the trees that grew on the other side, like island-shores that had begun to grow out the dark green ocean of the trees to rise on high to form mountains topped with white snow. They had stopped for their mid-day meals—Solas telling them that Skyhold was not much farther, a few long hours at most—and then they would be there. He confessed to them that in the summer months that trip would have taken a week, two at most, but the snow had slowed them down. Orta could agree. A whole month to get from the bottom of a mountain to the top seemed crazy to her. But she had little knowledge in the function of mountains. She had grown up as a Dwarf in the city of Orzammar before leaving and her work had never truly taken her to the  _ top  _ of a mountain before. 

Being on the surface for ten years meant little. Being a mercenary meant having to crawl and muck through some nasty places. Climbing high was usually done in better weather with nobles and their luxuries as they went hunting for whatever they had paid to have killed. Not that they would ever go very high, since the large game would gather on the lower levels, since it was warmer and thus most likely mating season. They left soon after their meals and as the sun rose and pressed passed noon they glimpsed far off in the east the grey-green lines of the fallen town of Haven. The whole of the world was painted in watercolor and faded haze so high up, the winter winds blowing snow out and down. Skyhold itself was not what anyone was expecting it to be. A broken caricature of half-formed rocks in the vague  _ shape _ of a castle. 

A former fort once held by Avaar clans. Wild animals making it a home in the absence of men, Elf, or Dwarf. A stunning stronghold with tall walls of ivory and only one bridge to enter, a bridge that had been drawn up and closed, proving that it had been a place of unwavering solitude against any foreign horde. Damen, Dorian, Solas and Vivienne—along with the other mages—had to use their magic to pull the bridge down and snap it into place so that everyone could cross into the courtyard. Only for their entrance to once again be stopped. A wrought iron gate showing not a single ounce of abuse from the elements or the passing of time, stopped them. Beyond was a courtyard in need of lawn care and a few fallen stones, from where pieces of the castle had fallen to their ultimate fate.

Abelas was up and about—no longer deathly sick with fever—but still wrapped in thick clothing and Cullens fur mantle. Solas leaned on his staff and Sera cursed. 

“Now how do we get in?” Sera snapped. 

“I can climb through the bars.” Abelas said, but a look from Maraas said the idea was dead in the water. Cullen even shook his head and then Orta spoke. 

“I might not be a skinny as the kid,” she explained, “but if you can get the gate open a little off the ground I can get in and open it up so we can get the fuck outta the  _ cold _ and wind already.” 

“That could work.” Maraas said softly, “But what if we are not strong enough to lift the gate and keep it open?” 

“We have mages! They could help.” Abelas said in offer. Dorian gave a small chuckle at her and she turned to look at him. 

“My sweet girl,” he told her, “your confidence in us is truly a marvel to behold. But sadly, pulling down that stubborn wooden drawbridge has drained a great deal of mana from everyone. I doubt even all of us combined would have enough to hold a gate  _ this _ size open.” 

Orta gave Dorian a very dry and stale look, “Thanks you for your words of  _ encouragement _ , Sir Fancy Pants of Tevinter. I’ll take a running start. And hope I’m quick enough to get through.” 

Cassandra, Cullen, Blackwall, Bull and Maraas all took a strong hold of the iron gate and lifted as Orta took a running start and slide under the small space that was made. The gate was dropped when she was across and she went to look for the lever to open the shut gate. It was covered in thick cobwebs and it made a horrible cry as she moved it. Once the iron gates were lifted and held open, the whole of Haven filed in. On the top they found—as Solas had said—a wide ring of ancient stone-work, now crumbling or covered with age-long grass. But in the centre a cairn of broken stones had been piled. They were blackened as if with fire. 

About them the turf was burned to the roots and all within the ring the grass was scorched and shrivelled, as if flames had swept the hill-top; but there was no sign of  _ any _ living thing. Everyone began to spread out, each looking for anything to be broken down to be used, which parts of the castle that had to be unblocked by the fallen rocks. The Templars had set to work on breaking open the main door to the inner parts of the castle. Above the door itself was a single balcony, a place to be seen, to be heard and to overlook all. A single banner, faded and grey, waved in the wind, as though surrendering to them. Abelas tried to wander off but was handed off to a Chantry Mother. She complained of wanting to help and Maraas said that her getting  _ better _ would help everyone. 

She pouted but stayed in the arms of Mother Giselle. The large oak doors to the inner castle only moved a few inches by the time the sun was setting. The large barn that had been found—and a covered well with pure and fresh water—had been made of use in a quick manner. The animals rested after a month of hard pushing, and everyone drank their fill of water and cooked hot food instead of warm, for the fear of the Red Templars finding them by their fires had been too strong to ignore. Not even complaining tummies could make many change their minds. Hidden here—the walls closing them in and the rest of the world out—everyone gave a sigh of relief. They would work hard in the morning. And work they did. 

The horses and goats were set free to eat the tall grass, the mages helped move the rocks away from buildings and doors. They were thrown down the mountain. Doors were pried open and dusty rooms full of cobwebs lay within, bare save rotten wood and mice. The inner castle was not much better. Much of the stone had fallen and even a few wooden beams. Josephine was making lists of things that they would need. Cullen had been told that his men would need to make a road for the traders to be able to find them. 

Cullen agreed and by the afternoon—his back soaked in sweat as he helped his men lift large rocks from the small hallways—Mother Giselle and Vivienne came to get him. Abelas, holding the holy Mothers’ hand, looked very sad, but Cullen could not dwell on it for long. As he was lead by the Mother to what she wanted to show him, Abelas held the perfumed and well taken care of hand of Lady Vivienne, who walked in even measured steps, her face held in polite disinterest. It was a garden that lie beyond one the doors that been freed from fallen rocks. The garden was overgrown with weeds and thick ivy leaves, the stone all but lost under the thick greenery of plant life untouched for generations. A few trees grew here in this garden, along with rough grass and many tall plants: stalky and faded hemlocks, wood-parsley, fireweed sending fluffy white spores into the air, rampant elfroot growing with abandon between the once strong cobblestone walkways. 

It was a room here, though, that the holy Mother wished for him to see. It was not as dusty and no wood was here. Smooth stone and a faded carpet of green leading to an alter. Cullen came into the room after the Mother, Abelas and Vivienne right behind him. Abelas kicked at the dusty carpet with a pout. 

“Look Commander,” the Mother said—spreading her arms out, her voice bouncing off the walls—the sun crawling in through the windows to give the whole of the room a feeling of slow peacefulness, “once everything is done with the major repairs to the castle proper, this can be the room for which we meet to worship.” 

“Why does it have to be  _ your _ gods that get this room?” Abelas asked, her voice soft and tired with both sickness and something else. Cullen looked down at her as she held the hand of Vivienne in her own. Dark brown on sun-tanned. Cullen had never been as dark as Abelas when he had been in the sun all day, not as a child and not as a man. Her skin was darker than his and Vivienne’s darker than Abelas’. In this place of green plants, forgotten songs, the echo of the room, and the sun shining down on them, they looked like they  _ belonged _ here more than he did. 

“Andraste was not a god, child. She was the Bride of The Maker.” 

Abelas frowned, “But...this was a place for Elvhen Gods. Not human ones. Why can’t your lady god get  _ another _ room?” 

“Why must this room be  _ your _ gods?” The Mother asked, one eyebrow raised. Abelas pointed to the shadows, the place where the sun could not quite reach as it faded, her hand holding her rabbits, letting the poor thing dangle.

“This was a room for June, the Elvhen God of Craft. His sign is also above the door across from that old throne.” she said, “Sylaise has two rooms, one near the place that Bull said would make a good tavern. Andruil has a room too, and Mythal, Falon’Din, his brother Dirthamen, the barn has Ghilan’nain and that banner above the door held Elgar’nan.” 

The Mother looked to Cullen, “I will speak with Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana.” 

Abelas looked to Vivienne, “But...they were here  _ first _ . Why can’t she have her own room? This place is big enough.” 

Vivienne clicked her tongue, “It is a bad habit, darling, that many of the Chantry have. They tend not to  _ listen _ to those that they think are beneath them.” 

Abelas hugged her rabbit closer to her, its yellow eyes seeming to accuse them all, and she let go of Vivienne and walked out of the room, “But that’s not  _ fair _ . They were here  _ first _ .” 

The holy Mother went next, seeking out Cassandra and Leliana. Cullen looked around the room and then noticed that Vivienne was watching him. He looked at her and she had narrowed her eyes at him. Vivienne scoffed at Cullen, this place overgrown with green plant life, humming with forgotten hymns and songs of a language all but lost, and Cullen saw in this place—in the sunlight—the room it used to be. A place of prayer to a god he had only heard of in passing by a people he had no ties to. He looked at Vivienne, who looked too regal and too human in this place that had been built by Elvhen hands and Elvhen blood. But then again, he was just as human, and had little right to be here either.

Abelas, Solas, Sera, the men and women who worked for Josephine and Leliana, even some of his men, those with Elvhen blood;  _ they _ belonged here. This place knew them. It sang so softly—as softly as lyrium in the blood—to them. He knew Vivienne meant well with the scoff, “What is it?” he asked softly, voice echoing loudly in the room of prayer, the faded and moth eaten carpet beneath his feet doing little to muffle the noise. 

Vivienne had a softer and more eloquent voice, and it echoed more softly as she spoke, “Do not take this the wrong way, Commander—or do—for this is hardly the time for being civil. The Elvhen know no peace, they have not known it for untold generations. According to history, the Elvhen people died for not only The Emerald Graves but also The Exalted Plain, every holy site they held dear, all of it was in  _ vain _ . They as a people have been  _ betrayed _ and  _ cheated _ , and it only makes sense for them to try and hide whatever is left. The Chantry will truly  **erase** them, if given even half a chance.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Don’t I? My dear Commander, take this for me, for I have played the Great Game for a  _ long _ time, and it is eerily similar to history. The Victor is the one who tells the story, and those who have been ground under their heel, will  _ never _ be able to regain all that is lost. Abelas is a child, but she is first and foremost an  **Elf** , and she has grown up with half formed stories and even less than half of what was once the Empire of Elvhen. Her desire to keep this—this small piece of her own heritage—safe, is not so odd a thing. She has lost much, asking to keep this— _ this  _ place—that has stood in silence for a long time, safe, is  _ hardly _ a large request. Good day.” 

******************

It took a few days but the door to the castle proper was finally opened and inside was just as worse for wear—not the court where the large fireplace was set—the stairway leading down into a forge and up and out to the higher levels. Abelas had followed them up into the stairwell and then stopped, lifting up her bare feet and Cullen turned to look. They were black as soot. She wiggled her toes at him and he went to pick her up and place her on his shoulders, wiping her feet clear with his gloved hand. The stair were rotting, the wood under them tired and twisted. Abelas looked up, humming softly, and kicking her ankles, while Cullen held her shins. Her rabbit sat on his head, pushing into his hair. Maraas knocked on some of the walls, and the stone held true. The wood was not. They talked about the detailed repaired as they went back to the the main hallway. Cassandra and Josephine talked in soft voices as the mages carried in chairs and books through the door near the fireplace.

Abelas reached down and turned Cullens head to watch them, speaking quickly in Elvhen. Cullen reached up, removing his hands from her thin shins to take her tiny hands from his face. 

He looked up at her as she looked down, her black hair making a baby soft curtain on one side of his face, “Common tongue, my little heretic.” 

He had taken to calling her that because it had taken him the better part of two days to make the holy mother's move the statue of Andraste that wanted to place. Abelas—in face of their serene scolding—had begun to speak only in Elvhen. Solas and a few of the other Dalish who had left their clans, could understand her and spoke back to her. Everyone else was left wondering. Damen could speak to her, but not very well. She shook her head and put her rabbit in his face and made a funny voice, making her rabbit talk to him instead. 

“Why are they moving that stuff?” the rabbit jumped and bobbed in front of him. He chuckled and answered, since she was—in a way—asking him. 

“Dorian, Damen and Solas found a library. It was still full of books kept in perfect condition. So the mages are moving in and taking the towers connected to it. The Templars will be moving into the towers near where my office will be once the stairs are all cleared.” 

She took her rabbit out of his face and put her mouth near his ear, whispering into it, “We will be sleeping there too?” 

Cullen looked at Maraas out of the corner of his eye, shaking her head at something that Josephine had told her, “You’ll have to ask your Tama about that.” 

“I hope we do,” Abelas said as she moved her rabbit atop his head and leaned heavily on his head with her rabbit smashed under her tiny chest, her hair tickling his chin, “you have bad dreams like me and I sleep better when someone is next to me. Maybe it would help you too.” 

Cullen lifted her up and flipped her down onto her feet—making her giggle—and spun her around until she was facing him. He placed his hands on her shoulders and got down on one knee to speak to her, “I would like to have company while I slept—I would, but that is not  _ my _ choice to make. Your Tama has to agree. I won’t force you  **or** her to do something that will make you feel uncomfortable. I have made too many people do things that hurt them and I aim to never do that again if I can help it.” 

Abelas lifted up her rabbit to hide her face and made the toys head move and dance as she spoke in her little funny voice she had given him, “I think you are  _ too _ hard on yourself. You need to have more fun! That makes everyone feel better!” 

Cullen smiled and got to his feet, “And what do you suggest, Mr. Gold?” The name of her rabbit. She had been very firm on that. 

“Hide and seek!” Abelas said as she move the rabbit away and smiled up at him, “You count and I’ll hide!” 

“Only in places that are safe,” Cullen said as he folded his arms, “and only a few rounds. I do have work to do, I’m afraid.” 

“Fine.” Abelas pouted, “Two rounds and then I’ll find Sera. She’ll play with me.” 

“All right. I’ll count to one hundred and then go looking.” With that Abelas took off running as he turned his back and went to see what had caused Maraas to shake her head and look so tense. As he got closer Maraas looked at him and then past him as Abelas said hello to Solas and Vivienne as she took off past the large double doors. 

“A game?” she asked. 

“Hide and seek.” he answered with a little bow of his head, “What has made you look so tense?” 

She clicked her tongue, “Miss Josephine has informed me that Abelas has been appointed judge, jury and if the need arises,  _ executioner _ for any and all who have done evil deeds in the name of this Elder One. Or, as he calls himself, Corypheus.” 

“Who has given this degree?” 

Josephine answered with a lady like sneer on her face, if she could sneer—it looked more like gentle confusion to him—“This shall go down in history but  _ every _ leader. Empress Celene, The Archon of Tevinter, King Alistar and the Warden Queen Mahariel. The Pharaoh of Nevarra, the leaders of the Qun, King Alejandro of Antiva, and the Voodoo Mother of Rivani. They will let her decide how any who wish to end the world will be judged.” 

All of them looked at the old throne, golden and large with moth eaten velvet. Cullen could see it, the way it might have looked. He could see some king on that throne, a thin but nasty looking sword at his hip. He tries to picture  _ Abelas _ , sleepy eyed, small and too kind, sitting in that chair that might have killed enough people to dye it red. He  **can’t** see her on it. He can’t see her passing judgment on another person, she was too...he didn’t even know. He looks at Josephine, who looks down at her clipboard and writes something down quickly. 

“She won’t kill anyone.” Maraas said with a shake of her head, “She  _ can’t _ . She loves life too much and to her death should only come when it comes of its own accord.” 

“They seem to forget she is a child.” Cullen sighed. 

“A child who is waiting for  _ you _ to find her. She will come find you if you don’t start looking soon.” Maraas said softly. Cassandra had been silent. Varric came up to them and she shot him a look. He held up his hands and then itched the back of his neck. 

“So, all of this stuff that has been going on, and the recent events in Haven—well, I think I  _ may _ know someone who could help.” 

Leliana came toward them and raised an eyebrow at Varric, “Oh?”

“Let me get a letter off, and she’ll be here quick as a whip.” Varric chuckled and then wandered away again. Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him. 

“If it is who I think it is, I’ll  **kill** him.” she said.

Maraas and Cullen looked at each other and Cullen walked away to find his missing girl.

**********

Abelas felt his hand on her shoulder and she blinked away the sleep to look. Falon’Din. She put her head deeper into the pillow. He moved some hair behind her ear and whispered into it, “Abelas. In the morning, follow Cole. I asked him to safeguard a gift for you.”  

She mumbled into the pillow, “A gift?”

“Yes. A gift just for you. Not even my sneaky little brother can take it away once you touch it. It is powerful and yours.”

“What is it?” she yawned and pulled the covers deeper around her, “Will you tell me?”

Falon’Din chuckled and placed a kiss on her head, “A gift always better when it’s a surprise. Sleep, Abelas. Cole will keep it until the sun comes back.”


	12. Bring me the heart of snow white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne deserved better in the game.

Abelas was left to play inside the castle after breakfast and Cole almost gave her a heart attack when he  _ suddenly  _ was just there. She hadn’t forgotten what Falon’Din had told her the night before and went with Cole without question. He took down deep into the dungeon and out to a portion of it that had fallen away. The waterfall was below her as she looked over the edge. Cole bent down on one knee and moved her head to far away spot that could be gotten to on one of the rickety beams that still made up the edges of what used to be the floor. He pointed with his boney fingers.

“The raggedy man said that your gift is in that cell. He hide it here a long time ago so his little brother wouldn’t be tempted to use it.” Cole said softly. Abelas nodded her head and moved toward the last cell still standing from the fallen prison. She hugged the wall tightly, clinging to the rusting bars as she went, her toes keeping her above the edge of the floor. She got the cell with little fuss and stood inside of it, looking around. One of the stones under her feet was loose and titled back and forth as she stood on it.

She moved around it and tried to pull it up. It was too heavy. Lucky for her, Cole had followed and helped her move the stone. She dug up the dirt under it and reached down deeply into whatever was left of the soil the prison was built upon. She pulled out a very simple...stick. She knew it was a walking stick because there was nothing on it, no runes or jewels, no cloth or even leather hand holder. It was a walking stick. 

Plain wood on plain wood with plain wood. She held it out to Cole, “ _ This  _ is what he wanted me to find?”  

“He said the last cell buried under loose stone.” Cole told her. She looked down at it and rolled her eyes. Cole helped her back to the court and she went about trying to make the stick do _anything_ other than be a stick. When she hit a holy mother in the shin they sent her out to play near the barn. She went and played there. The stick was still a stick. From inside the barn she could hear Blackwall and Dennett talking.

“The old girl isn’t going to make it, Dennett.” Blackwall said with a huff. 

Dennett's voice came to her from near the stables, “Aye. I know it. Must have gotten hit just right in Haven or twisted something on the way up.” 

“Might as well put her down, save her the misery.” Blackwall sighed. 

“Aye. She was good war horse.” 

Abelas moved into the barn and watched as Blackwall sent his sword through a horse head. Both men lamented the loss of the animal and moved away out the other entrance. Abelas moved to the horse and looked down at it. She felt tears well up in her eyes and fell to her knees. She reached out with a sob and touched the massive stomach of the animal. It gave a jerk under hand and then got up on its own, she jumped back to her own feet and looked. The head wound was gone and then horse no longer limped. The horse walked out of the barn and Abelas ran back into the courtyard and looked down at the stick. 

_ Do you like your gift?  _ Falon’Din chuckled,  _ Not even Master Pavus can bring the dead wholly back to life. He can only make them into puppets, but you? You can do so much  _ **_more_ ** _ now. But do try to exercise a bit of restraint, my darling. _

Abelas simply gripped the stick tighter and shook the memory away. It was only a horse. It’s not she brought a  _ person  _ back to life. She might be able to explain away a person. 

*********

Orta had taken to sleeping in the rafter until they cleared out more rooms so people didn’t have to share anymore. It gave her a nice view of the whole court and the front doors. And no one bothered her. Both wins in her book. It was a somewhat gloomy day about a month after they had gotten there that Vivienne—who had taken the balcony overlooking the whole court as her room—called up to her. Orta looked down and Vivienne looked up, dressed in a simple daygown and still looking like she could kill you. Orta had to do a bit of climbing but soon was sitting on the balcony railing. 

“Yes?” 

“My dear, I’m afraid I must ask for you help.” she said and moved to the outside balcony and motioned Orta to follow. Orta did and Vivienne shut the doors behind her, “There is an alchemical formula that I must complete, but I have been unable to obtain a critical ingredient. The heart of a snowy wyvern.”  

Orta gave a snort, “The heart of snow white, huh?” 

Vivienne raised an eyebrow at her and Orta dropped the smile off of her face, “I had arranged to obtain one, but the chevaliers working with me were killed in the civil war.”

“To be honest,” Orta said and jumped up to sit on the railing of the outdoor balcony, “I didn’t know you were an alchemist, Vivienne. But before I agree to help you with this favor, I wanna know. What is this project or whatever it is that you’re working on?” 

Vivienne examined her nails, “It is a special request from a member of the Council of Heralds. I  _ am  _ still the Imperial Court Enchanter, after all. The matter is private, and that is all there is to say on it.”  

Orta could understand. They had clients likes this before. What they wanted as not illegal in any sense, but it was frowned upon enough that social circles would ostracize people for it. A contract was often drawn up. Hush and hush, a just in case. Vivienne had played and lived the game, so she was probably an old hat at this. Orta never liked those kinds of contracts, they tended to go ass up quickly.

She didn’t press for more information, “All right. But you’re coming with me.” 

Vivienne chuckled, “Whatever for?” 

“So I don’t fuck up and bring you back a regular heart instead of snow whites.”

************

Cullen was reading over reports when he the door to his office open and close. He looked up and saw no one. He narrowed his eyes. If it was Cole again, he was going to have to have a serious discussion with Solas about teaching that boy boundaries. He went back to reading his report and saw a plate of food be pushed into the desk. Well, food was a stretch. It was a sweet bread and grapes. 

He looked at the plate for a long moment and then a tiny hand pushed a cup of liquid over the edge and next to the plate. It was a small tan hand. Abelas. He smiled and went back to his reports. He heard her shuffle to the other side of his desk and place tiny wood soldiers on the edge of his desk. He took a grape and left it in the spot where the next soldier was going to go. Abelas took the grape and put the soldier. 

She put the seed on the desk and he took it, she put another soldier. And so it went as Cullen picked at the food and Abelas played at the desk. When the door to office opened, it was for reports to be dropped off. The runners said hello to Abelas, their tone quick but full of awe at the heaven sent savior. It was close to supper when Blackwall, Dennett and Dorian showed up, arms cross or faces cross. Cullen raised an eyebrow at them. 

“Well, this is unexpected. What’s wrong?” 

Dennett cleared his throat, “You know that horse that had the limp? The white beauty with freckles?” 

Cullen nodded his head, “You said you would have to put it down. The leg was most liley broken. A horse with a broken leg is dead no matter what you do.” 

“Maybe,” Blackwall said, looking down at his desk, “we should wait to talk about this.” 

Cullen had almost forgotten about Abelas. He scooped the crumbs from the plate into his mouth and put the wooden men on top of it. He held it over where he thought her head was, “Abelas, please take this with you, I’m still drinking the cider you brought. And if you can, tell Maraas all of us will be down to eat as soon as we can. Don’t wait up.” 

Abelas stood, her rabbit held to her, and took the plate. She looked at Blackwall, Dorian and Dennett and smiled. She left with little argument and a walking stick on her back. Odd girl, his Abelas. He looked at the men before him. 

“Continue.” 

Blackwall sighed, “We put the old girl down, Commander. But…” 

“But…?” Cullen echoed.

“It’s alive! Not a single thing wrong with her.” Dennett exclaimed as he threw up his hands. Cullen shook his head. 

“What?” 

“I am a Necromancer, Cullen.” Dorian sniffed, “But this? This is such an advanced form of Necromancy that even if I spent the rest of life in dedicated research to the art, I would never be able to pull something like this off.” 

Cullen rubbed at his face, “So...explain this to me.” 

“The dead horse walking or the magic?” Blackwall scoffed. 

“Both.” Cullen snapped. 

Dennett itched at the bald spot on his head, “This is all over my head, Commander.”

“It’s not over mine.” Dorian said with a smirk. 

“By all means, Master Pavus.” Blackwall said, “The floor is yours.” 

“Gladly.” Dorian took a step forward and smoothed his robes, “Necromancy is an art of spell casting because you need to be able to keep control of seven different types of spells while raising the dead. If even  _ one  _ of those minor spells is done wrong, nothing will happen except explode the corpse.” 

“Nasty.” Dennett muttered. 

“Which is why anything brought back with Necromancy never lives longer than a few hours. This horse was brought back sometime late this morning and hasn’t died again.” 

“How?” Blackwall questioned. 

“Wonderful questions!” Dorian said with a grin, “To which I have no answer. No mage in the whole of  _ Thedas  _ has enough power to not only raise the dead but keep them alive for so long.” 

“The mire has undead,” Cullen sighed, “hundreds of them. How was that done?”

“Blood magic and spite.” Dorian said as he smoothed out his mustache, “But blood magic leaves a certain  _ taint  _ behind when it’s used. There was no such taint on the horse.” 

“So...what you are telling me is...a mage of unknown power is running around Skyhold, and is raising...war horses?” Cullen spoke slowly. 

“I think,” Blackwall huffed, “Master Pavus is looking past war horses. If this mage moves onto people, what kind of chaos would that bring? Dead is dead, Commander. And that means, they don’t get back up and  _ stay  _ up after the Maker has claimed their souls.” 

Cullen stood, “We can discuss this with everyone. At supper. For now, let us wait before we cause a mass panic.” 

“I agree.” Dorian said with a chirp and turned to leave. Blackwall bowed his head to Cullen and left as well. Dennett muttered under his breath as he went out the door. Cullen sat back down and sighed. He held his head in his hands and rubbed at his temples. What a mess. 

****************

Abelas was hiding in the tall grass under the hazelnut tree by the gazebo in the garden. She had been listening at the door when Cullen sent her away. She had heard enough. She was looking at the stick at her feet, her toes curled away from it. Her rabbit was being used as a pillow on her knees. She had pulled her legs to her chest so she was harder to spot. Cole was just sitting next to her. But no one ever really saw him unless he wanted. Cole was petting her hair. 

“Did I do something bad, Cole?” 

Cole seemed to think, “I don’t think so. But everyone else might. They say it’s wrong but their heart says  _ yes, things would be better if they hadn’t died _ . If it’s helping people then I don’t think it’s wrong.” 

Abelas hid her face in her rabbit, “I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know.” 

“You’re nice, Cole.” 

“Thank you.” 

Abelas heard Cassandra calling her and she stood, dusting off her pants and picked up the stick. She held it out to Cole, “Can you keep this?” 

“Yes.” 

Dinner was odd. As they all talked about the horse and how worried they were she couldn’t taste her food. It tasted like  _ ash  _ in her mouth. She could Falon’Din chuckling in her head. As she speared on of her potatoes, Dorian smashed his hand on the table, making everyone's cups wiggle with the force. 

“ _ I  _ am telling you—as a Necromancer and a mage—and as a man who knows blood magic and what it can do, we need to find out who did this before they decide to up their game!” 

Abelas held her fork tightly. Her knuckles had turned white with how tight she had gripped it. Falon’Din leaned down to whisper in her ear,  _ I wonder what would happen if you told them that it was  _ **_you_ ** _ who raised that horse?  _

Abelas put down her fork and raised her hand. Maraas looked at her, “Yes, Abelas?” 

“I...I know who did it.” 

Cullen and Maraas looked at each other, Cullen leaned close on the table, “Go on, tell us. No one will be mad.” 

“I...I...I did it. I made the horse alive again.” 

Dorian laughed, “You?” 

“I can prove it.” Abelas snapped. 

And she did. 

They took her to the healers room and she stood next to a soldier a healer had said had passed an hour ago. Cole was there when she called for him, and she took the staff. She reached out and held the boy's hand, his skin cold and leathery. She closed her eyes. The boy screamed as he shot up on the cot, falling to the stone floor. Abelas had let go of his hand as he fell. He withered on the floor, screaming and tearing at his chest.

Then he was silent and pushed himself up until he was sitting on the floor. He looked at them all, and then stared at Cullen, licking his lips, “C-commander?” 

Cullen got down on one knee, “Who are you?” 

“I...I’m Podrick, sir.” 

“Where are you from?” 

Podrick laughed, “A dog lord like you, sir. Fereldan born and bred.” 

“What do you remember?” 

“Fighting those red Templar bastards, and helping a woman in Haven. I...I got…”

Maraas spoke softly to the healer, “How did he die?” 

“A fire arrow to the throat. He was able to survive thanks to a mage girl. But even her magic couldn’t save him.” the healer whispered. 

Podrick began to cry, “I got an arrow on fire into my throat. I thought I was going to die. Then...a girl found me, a mage. She helped me but...but her magic was running out. She got me to the healers once we go to Skyhold. I guess...Commander? Did I die?” 

Cullen bowed his head, “Yes.” 

“How am I alive?” Cullen looked at Abelas and so did Podrick. Abelas looked down at her feet. Podrick got to his knees and shuffled to her, taking her hand and pressing his head into her knuckles. He was still  _ sobbing,  _ and Cullen stood back up, “Thank you, my lady Herald.  _ Thank you.  _ I’m alive because of you.”

“I...I didn’t mean to.” 

Podrick looked at her, and wiped his nose, “My ma and da still has her son ‘cause of you. My wife wrote to me in Haven. I’m gonna be a da soon. Now I can help her raise me son. Or daughter. Of both! But it’s ‘cause of you...that I can.”  

Cullen put his hand on her shoulder and took her away. Which caused a new set of problems. Dorian and Damen both wanted to know  _ how,  _ Solas was more worried about her magic, Maraas and Josephine were wondering if they should bring in a mage of the Mortalitasi in Neverra to train Abelas. Leliana and Cullen wondered what would happen if people knew that Abelas could bring back the dead. Blackwall, Cassandra and Bull were now unsettled by the idea of a little girl being able to raise an  _ army  _ of the dead with a touch. Orta, Sera and Vivienne had left before lunch. Abelas and Cole simply watched. 

Finally, Dorian was the one who brought up an issue that no one could have an answer for.

“How long will that man be alive before the magic wears off? We have no  _ idea  _ how she did this, or how long it can last before what she brought back dies! We should be looking into this! We need to know what kind of magic this is and how a little girl like Abelas got a hold of it!” 

Solas looked at him, “The Mark.” 

“What?” Damen asked, itching the pads of his fingers. 

“The Mark that was given to her. The object she saw, combined with the unstable blood magic of that darkspawn, might be how she got this magic.” 

_ Poor man, he doesn’t know that what you did will never stop. You brought him back, you gave him back all the time he would have had.  _

Abelas looked down at the stick in her hands. It didn’t feel right to reset time on dead things, but it also didn’t feel wrong. That man had a wife and a baby. His parents were still alive. She had helped him but...she wasn’t suppose to. She didn’t know how to feel. 

****************

Solas entered his room and locked the door. Falon’Din was looking at the painting he was working on, overlooking the balcony. Solas all but threw his staff into the corner. Falon’Din didn’t even have the common courtesy to turn and look at him. 

“A little dark, for the girl, don’t you think?” 

Solas looked. Abelas, painted as woman, sitting upon a throne of bones and blood coating her hands as she held orbs of life and death in them. Her hair pulled up and into a braid, weaved through the crown of thorns atop her head. At her feet lie the rest of the Elvhen pantheon—dead.

“No.” 

Falon’Din turned to look at him, “You think she would kill all of you?” 

“You tried.” Solas snapped. 

“I did.” Falon’Din admitted with a chuckle, “And I failed.” 

Solas took off his shirt and drank from the bottle of liquor he had hidden, sitting down at the chair near the cold fireplace. A flick of his wrist sent it burning. Solas slouched in his seat, “When you tried, everyone was at their full power. If she tries, it would hardly take an ounce of her power to do what you couldn’t.” 

Falon’Din had turned as Solas spoke and the wicked smile that opened over his face was a thing of nightmares, “Oh? Is that so?” 

“YES IT IS SO!” Solas screamed at him as he threw the bottle at him. It broke on the wall. Falon’Din titled his head and Solas got up, pacing in a rage as he spoke, “You gave her your staff of power! Do you understand what it is  _ you’ve  _ done? Do you even have any comprehension whatsoever as to what it is you have doomed the world to?” 

“Enlighten me, little brother.” 

Solas stopped, his breathing harsh and dodgy, “She’ll grow up into  _ you  _ and you were a horrible person and an even  _ worse  _ god. What will she be like? What will she do?” 

“What could she do? A girl who weeps so easily? A child who is too afraid to comprehend the lessons I am teaching her. A girl who has never been allowed to stop and  _ mourn  _ what she lost because if she stopped she might have died.” 

“Maybe she should have.” Solas whispered. 

Falon’Din straightened in front of him, “You don’t mean that.” 

“Don’t I?” 

“Then kill her.” Falon’Din said with a shrug of his shoulders, “It would be so easy for you. She has no defense in her sleep against you. And you would be long gone by the time they found her when the sun rose. If this is bothering you so much, then stop being a sneaky little  _ bitch  _ and finish her like you finished us.” 

Solas felt his hands shake, “You want me to kill a  _ child?”  _

_ “Like you haven’t done it before.”  _ Falon’Din hissed. 

Solas shook his head and fell back down into his chair, “I...I can’t.” 

“Then stop complaining about it if you aren’t going to do anything about it, Solas. It makes you sound so  _ whiny.”  _

With that Falon’Din was gone and Solas looked blankly at the wall. He didn’t feel himself get up, or grab the artist knife he used. He didn’t feel himself wander out to the garden to the hazelnut tree. Abelas was there, making patterns in the dirt. He lifted the knife and his whole arm shook. Abelas didn’t know he was there. She wiped away what she had drawn and he dropped the knife. The dull  _ thud  _ made her turn. 

“Solas? Aren’t you cold?” she asked him.

Solas shook his head and went back to his room. 

*****************

Vivienne had her arms tucked tight to her body, her face pinched in emotion, “This should only take a moment, Orta.” She strode quickly to the large bed in the middle of the room and sat down the edge of it. She gently took the hand of the man lying prone on it and lifted it to kiss it, smoothing back his greying hair, “I’m here, my darling.” She lifted his head with her other hand and poured the shimmering silver drink down his throat. He was still for a moment and then his eyes fluttered open. 

“Vivienne?” he asked with a strained and whispy voice. 

She planted a kiss on his forehead, “Yes, darling?”

He held onto her hands—smashing her two softer ones between his two withered ones—and gave them a shaky kiss, “It’s going to be alright, my love.” 

His hands fell to the bed and his eyes closed. He wasn’t breathing. Vivienne leaned down close to his face, “My darling? Bastien?” 

Silence. Orta and Sera both bowed their head as Vivienne wiped at her eyes and stood in one smooth action. Orta itched at the back of her neck, “Vivienne...I’m sorry.” 

Vivienne looked down at Bastien for a long moment, her face stone but her eyes betraying her. Her voice didn’t waver as she spoke, “There’s nothing here now.”

**********

Abelas always felt  _ awkward  _ when they did this. But Josephine said she had to because they people believed in her. They had to see her. She had to be present during the holy mass. From dawn until dusk, she had to be there and be seen. Cullen often stayed with her. Maraas didn’t. 

She was still a Qunari, and Qunari in Andrastian mass was...unsettling. In return for a whole day of faith on her part, Cullen would go with her and the other Dalish. They didn’t stare at him anymore. Cullen would admit he understand a word out of every hundred they said—but it made Abelas happy and since she had to have a whole  _ day  _ of being miserable—he did it without a word of complaint. But ever since word had spread about her bringing that man back to life, people had began to ask her for things she had no idea how to give. They asked her for love, and for being patient. 

To forgive. To forget. To bless them in their travels. She didn’t know what they  _ wanted.  _ But Falon’Din did. He knew because he had once been asked for these things too. He had been a god once upon a time. 

This mass, at about noon, Abelas was asked to come and sit upon the altar where the holy mothers spoke. As she did, they put a bowl of water under her feet. It smelled like roses. Cullen looked confused and she looked at him slightly anxious. He smiled at her to try and calm her fears. Abelas looked out at the room of people. Mother Giselle spoke loudly and clearly. 

“Dearly blessed,” she began, “today, we gather to worship The Maker and his Holy Bride. His Holy Bride who held one man as highly as she held The Maker himself. An elf who was her confidant and stalwart friend until her death. In our hour of need, The Maker gave us an elf to be  _ our  _ confidant and stalwart friend. He has even seen fit to give her a gift of his own hand.” 

The room muttered, “Amen.” 

She went on, “Today, we shall do as Andraste once did for Shartan. And we shall now quote the passage. Once banned from holy text, but  _ no more.”  _

“Amen.” the room muttered again. 

“...and standing behind Him at His feet, weeping, she began to wet His feet with her tears, and kept wiping them with the hair of her head, and kissing His feet and anointing them with the perfume.” 

Cullen leaned back and Looked at Cassandra who looked just as confused.

A different mother spoke, “Andraste knew her marriage to the Tevinter was nigh, and knew that she would be unhappy. She did so to save her people. Shartan was with her from slavery to war leader and when she knew what would befall her, she had nothing to give him but her tears. So she did what she could. She washed his feet and wept for what he would lose.” 

“And so,” Mother Giselle said and raised her arms, “we shall wash the feet of our savior, and we shall weep  _ no more,  _ for she has been sent to keep us.” 

Abelas didn’t know she felt about everyone taking a handful of rose water and pouring it over her feet, placing a kiss on the top of them. Falon’Din—unseen by anyone but her—watched them wash her feet, his arms folded. 

_ I will admit, I never had my worshippers kiss and wash my feet. How does it feel? _

Abelas looked at him out of the corner of her eye,  _ It feels wrong. I’m not special. _

When Cullen came up she looked at him. He knelt and used both hands to pour the water over her feet and gave them a gentle kiss, and then bowed his head to touch them. Abelas looked down at his blonde hair. 

_ You don’t have to be special, Abelas. Sometimes, we are thrown into the greatness that never suits us. And we must learn to endure it. _

**********

The night air was winter cold but Vivienne was warmed by the wine in her hand. Orta didn’t know what to say. She came out to the balcony with a chair and sat down in it as she loaded up her pipe. Vivienne drank her wine and didn’t look at her. Orta pulled her winter cloak tighter around her shoulders. The noise of the tavern could be heard, carried by the wind. Vivienne looked out over the gardens and the gardens were always silent with prayer from the former Dalish and the holy mothers as they walked around in it. 

Vivienne needed that kind of silence, Orta thought, a silence to remember to. As Orta struck the match along her cheek, Vivienne went back in and grabbed another chair. She sat down across from Orta, bring the wine bottle with her along with another glass. Orta took it when it was offered. 

She raised it above her head, “To the people we love and lose.” 

Vivienne took a sip and Orta drained the glass. Vivienne refilled it and Orta made sure to use the last of the match before it went out to light her pipe. The smoke trailed up and away on the wind. Vivienne gave a small sniffle after a minute of silence. She covered her eyes with one hand, but Orta could still see the tears running down her face. Orta didn’t comment on it. Shitty things happened to everyone, and people didn’t need to point out the painful shite when it was right in of them; she just puffed on her pipe. 

“Bastien is dead. I can hardly believe…”

“Talk about him,” Orta said softly, “and keep talking about him. It’ll hurt, it’ll probably hurt forever, but you’ll hate him less for dying if you talk about him while you can still remember to love him.” 

Vivienne titled her head back on the chair, her grip loose on the wine glass, “It was the Wintersend Ball, my first visit to the Imperial Palace. The Circle sent a dozen of us to entertain the nobility. I was in awe of  _ everyone  _ and  _ everything _ ...and then our eyes met.” Vivienne gave a dry chuckle, “Bastian spent the entire ball at my side. The dowager tried to have him killed for slighting her...but he didn’t care.” 

“Sounds a little like love. Or something like it.” 

Vivienne finally looked at Orta, her eyes rimmed red and her smile drunk and watery at best, “He was a dashing rogue, and any defects he might have had were made up for with rank and importance. It was a more...innocent time, I suppose. Now he’s gone and I…”

“Breathe, Vivienne. You’ll break that glass if you don’t.” 

She took a large sniff and stood, wiping at her eyes, “I must write to his son, Laurent. And his sister! She’ll make a terrible fuss if she isn’t informed first.” she began to pace on the balcony as Orta smoked, “And I’ll need to arrange for the Chantry services. Maker only knows how long that will take.”

“Need help?” 

“No, my dear.” Vivienne chuckled and stopped pacing, leaning down and giving Orta a gentle kiss on her rough cheek, “I’ll handle everything. Excuse me, I have so much to do.” 

Orta stood from her chair and called out to her retreating back, “As Maraas to hold his service here. No one has to  _ pretend  _ here.” 

Vivienne stopped cold in her tracks, “I know that.” 

********

The funeral happened on a snowy day and Laurent and his aunt came with the snow. Laurent embraced Vivienne when he saw her and wept into her shoulder. She told him to be strong and to carry his father's coffin. Cullen, Blackwall, Laurent, Bull, Cassandra and Dorian helped him carry it. They held the funeral in the court. The fireplace had been cleaned and the fire burned bright. Everyone was dressed in white. 

When everyone was seated, the holy mothers and sisters began to sing. 

Abelas was in the front row, leaning on Cullen and holding onto Maraas’ hand. She liked the singing. It was sad, but it sounded like how Ashihari used to sing before she died. The singing ended and the coffin was opened. Abelas had only seen people burnt. Her clan had burnt their dead. It was a way to let the soul be free. 

Vivienne walked up to the coffin and then turned to face the room, her face not betraying her emotions, “Bastien is... _ was  _ the leader of the Council of Heralds—the only person to bring that rabble into line. He could charm a bird out of its feathers and frequently did. I remember once... he broke up a fight between Prosper De Montfort and The Dowager with a joke and glass of wine.” 

She began to break down and Laurent stood, going to her and wrapping his arms around her, his eyes just as red, “Come along, Vivienne. Let Aunt Belladonna speak for a bit.” 

The older woman who had come and had embraced Vivienne so tightly stood and went to speak next. Laurent sat Vivienne down next to Abelas, on the other side of Cullen. 

“Thank you, Laurent. You are a good son.” 

Laurent got down on one knee and looked at Abelas, “My lady Herald, blessed by Andraste and The Maker, I beg you on my knees...please— _ please _ — speak for my father. Even a word or two.” 

Abelas looked up at Vivienne, “Is that ok?” 

Vivienne looked down at her, “If you think it to be so.” 

“I’m asking you.” 

“...yes, my darling. A word or two please.” 

When the woman was done, Abelas stood and went to stand before them all. She felt out of place. She felt Falon’Din place his hands on her shoulders,  _ Speak my words. Do not be afraid.  _

She licked her lips and held her bunny tightly to her chest, “There was a secret tune that was played for god, but for you it would never be such sa-salvation. One sings it like this; the confused weave a hallelujah. You faith has grown weak, and...and...Falon’Din takes your body, takes your head, but she takes from you only a braid from your hair and frees from you a hallelujah. So go and seek..? Go and seek your castle and your flag. A heart is no one's throne. Sing out for the dead, the hallelujah of their love for you, for that shall be the song to let them rest.”  

Vivienne stood and went to Abelas, placing a kiss on her head, “Thank you.” 

They burnt his body at dusk and Laurent took the ashes. He stayed in Skyhold for a few days along with Belladonna. Vivienne drank, but never wept. Laurent left his father's ashes with her and went back to Orlias. Belladonna went back to her vacation home in Antivia. Abelas was given new dresses and gowns by Vivienne. She told her she didn’t need them. To which Vivienne had chuckled. 

“Even Andraste herself, had to look presentable, darling.” 

“Why?” 

“To remind them that she was heaven sent—divine and holy. And no matter what she wore, that would always be true.” 

Abelas screwed up her face, “That’s dumb.” 

“That’s politics, I’m afraid.” 

“That’s dumb too then.” 

Vivienne laughed, “Ah, words of wisdom from the mouth of a babe. And thank you...for your words to my Bastien.” 

“He loved you. He loved you a lot.” 

“I know. I loved him too.” 


	13. The Verchiel March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How 'bout I do it anyway?

Dorian had invited her to drink out in the gazebo. She had no reason to deny and she was still in mourning. But Dorian was still a man bred to the game and she knew what he wanted to ask her. He had enough common sense to wait until they had gone halfway through a bottle.

“You could have asked her.” Dorian said as he sniffed at the wine, swirling it in his glass, “She probably would have done it.”

Vivienne looked at him out of the corner of her eye, “I could have. But I didn’t.” 

Dorian took a measured sip of his wine, “May I ask why?”

“You wanted me to ask a child,” Vivienne said with a sneer on her face, “who can barely even  _ comprehend  _ her own magic to bring back a dead man?”

“A dead man you loved.” 

Vivienne stood, smacking her glass down and glaring down at Dorian, “Love, my darling, is just a history that they can prove. And even then, people can  _ lie.”  _

As she walked away, Damen came out into the garden and took her seat. Dorian looked at his face and groaned, “Don’t give me that look. It reminds me of my mother when she was cross with me about something I had done.”

“You did do something. And you know it. Vivienne is hurting right now and while all of us are...uneasy—”

“I suppose that’s a word for it.”

“—while we are all uneasy...it doesn’t change the fact that you can’t just go around asking questions that hurt people.”

“And what do you propose,” Dorian sighed, “do tell me. Because as far as I can tell, Abelas might be a bigger issue than this  _ Elder One  _ and his army of lyrium drunk Templars.”

Damen looked at him for a moment. He saw his smooth skin and dark hair. His bedroom eyes and beauty mark. He saw a man who had been bred and born into a position of power and saw Abelas as a contender to undermine it all, all he had worked toward. Damen knew Dorian was like him and wanted their homeland to change. But even Damen still sometimes caught himself thinking like how he used to when he been home. Thoughts that made him cringe. 

Dorian was likely suffering the same thing. Damen was happy that Abelas was on their side, but the noble Tevinter in him scowled. How  _ dare  _ that elf be so powerful? The gall. Damen understood, but that didn’t mean he was going to let Dorian keep this mind set. Sober or otherwise. He took the wine Vivienne didn’t finish and splashed it in his face. 

Dorian gasped like a drowned man. 

“Get over yourself, Dorian. Abelas could be doing a lot worse than learning her numbers and spelling, don’t you agree?” 

************************

Orta was in the tavern drinking when a arrow landed next to her elbow. She plucked the note from it and rolled her eyes. She took the arrow with her as she trudged up the stairs to Seras little room. She was a little too drunk to be walking up so many stairs, but if nothing else, she could pass out on one of Seras pillows. She had the big ones filled with goose down. It was so soft. Orta loved those pillows. 

Hell, she loved the woman those pillows belonged to. Orta knocked on her door and she heard Sera swear up a storm on the other side. She pushed the door open and Sera was looking under her pillows for something. Orta took a seat and let her neck rest on the sill of the open window. The breeze of dusk felt wonderful on her warm skin. 

“I’m still waiting to go and collect that reward for marching through Verchiel.” Sera pouted and crossed her legs, sitting on one of those giant pillows. 

Orta cracked an eye open and looked down at her, “The what?” 

Sera rolled her eyes, “The thingy I asked Cully-Wully to do. For Red Jenny!” 

“Oh.” Orta said and closed her eyes again, “I’ll go with you. Not, like  _ right  _ right now. But after I sober up enough to ride a horse.” 

Sera seeked to perk up, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“My favorite part this,” Sera exclaimed and stood, coming to hover over Orta, “let’s go see what friends can get us.” 

“When I’m sober.” Orta reminded her. 

“When you can walk.” Sera nodded. 

Orta lifted up her hand to wave it like a dead thing as she spoke, “And we have to take backup, just in case.” 

Sera thought for a minute, “Iron Bull?” 

“Good choice. And we might need a mage.” 

“ _ Not  _ Lady Fancy Pants.” Sera said and folded her arms, “Or Sir Fancy Pants—even though he’s tons better—my friends might not like them.” 

Orta looked at her, “Damen is out too then. He might act like us, but he was born like Dorian. You’re friends won’t like that.” 

Sera groaned and almost doubled over onto herself as she flopped down on the seat next to Orta, “Fine. Solas-my-face-is-always-grumpy-because-I-haven’t-shagged-anything-alive-in-years, can come. But I don’t have to like it!” 

Orta almost choked on her spit.

Sera  _ did  _ choke her spit because sometimes, you just happen to choke on nothing.  

*************

_ Take a deep breath, Abelas. If you pass out, then me teaching this to you won’t mean anything. Always remember to breath.  _

“Ok. Breath,” 

_ Good. Now...keep your stance wide, and your body lowered.  _

Abelas almost tipped into her face as she tried to use a forgotten watchtower to practice in. No one bothered her here and none of those mean tutors were brave enough to climb the crumbling wood to get to her at the top. Well, that was a lie. Cole got her to the top and took her back when she asked. Falon’Din was teaching her how to control her magic since Solas had become...distance since Haven. Like he knew. She wondered if he did. 

She wondered if he hated her. 

“Like this? 

Falon’Din pushed her down lower and made sure her feet were even with her shoulders as she held her stick,  _ Better. You’ll learn to go to this pose. Can you guess why? _

“Uhh...no?” Abelas admitted with a sheepish smile. 

_ Guess.  _

Abelas looked down at her feet, then at the stick, “I’m...harder to push down?” 

Falon’Din tilted his head,  _ Are you asking me or or you telling me? _

She still wore her sheepish smile, “Both?” 

Falon’Din laughed,  _ Sweet darling. You are correct. Even warriors know this stance. If your enemy can’t knock you down, then they can’t play out an advantage. This pose is good for both offense and defense while in a fight.  _

“I’ve never been a fight before.” 

_ Liar.  _ Falon’Din smirked down at her,  _ You have been in more fights for your life than most, sweet darling. Instead of being afraid, you should have the means to fight back. I am simply giving you the means to do so. What you do with the information I provide is up to you. _

Abelas looked up at him and then down at herself. She was too small. And too skinny. She frowned, “I don’t know what you could possible expect under this condition.” 

_ I expect you to grow up. And when you are grown up, I will teach the last spell I shall ever teach anyone. And then I shall be no more.  _

“No more?” Abelas echoed, “What do you mean? Where are going?” 

_ I mean I will die. Finally _ — _ truly _ — _ die. And you shall take my title. You shall be Abelas, the Elvhen God of Death. The last spell I will teach you, on the day you believe yourself grown, will be to take what is left of me _ — _ all that am, all that remains of my power _ — _ into your own soul. On that day you shall die a little death, and be reborn as something new. But not yet. You are too little still and too skinny. _

“What if...what if I’m not good enough?” Abelas asked him softly, her eyes watery and face pulled into herself. A child afraid. 

All children were afraid. 

Falon’Din leaned down and kissed the top her head,  _ Then you are the perfect person. Death should always doubt. Until the last moment, have doubt. _

***************

Sera stopped so suddenly that Orta almost ran into her. Iron Bull and Solas both looked around as they stopped. Orta rubbed her nose and looked around as well. Woods. Some light from torches on the road. A town nearby, maybe. Sera shook her head. 

“Wait—this is weird.” Sera said and hopped from foot to foot. 

Orta raised an eyebrow, “What?” 

“I was expecting a village or something,” Sera told her as she crossed her arms over her chest, eyes darting around, “the people that leave me things don’t trek out to places like  _ this.  _ Give me a city, and I’ll give you a tour. But— _ surprise, surprise! _ —I don’t know stupid woods or ruins!” 

A rustle of leaves made them all grab their weapons. 

“Who’s there?” Orta snapped as Sera asked, “What’s that?” 

A man came out of the bushes near the road and held up his arms, eyes wide and face pale while his whole body shook in fear, “Don’t hurt me! Harmond made me do it!” 

Orta looked at Sera and then lowed her daggers, “Well, stop sniffling then. We came here, didn’t we? Maybe we can help.” 

“Help?” The man shook his head and lowered his arm, “Had enough  _ help.  _ I complain about a fight and suddenly I’m an agent or something?” 

Sera sneered, “You were the one with the rumor out of Verchiel. My  _ friend?”  _

“ _ You’re  _ her? You’re the ones he’s been waiting for.” the man whispered and stepped back. He shook his head and then ran back up the road, “It’s her! She’s here!  _ Red Jenny!”  _

“Wait!” Orta snapped. She went to case him and two arrows shot him down dead in front of her. Iron Bull growled and Solas clicked his tongue. Sera narrowed her eyes and looked up at the small incline the road took. Someone was standing at the top with a bow. Orta could see the shadow in the moonlight. The men in armor that came out of the woods? 

They were hardly a surprise.

The fight was over quickly enough. Solas had gotten a mean streak in recent weeks and had kept sending bolts of lighting down. A little too close for her comfort, but it killed the enemy on contact. Bull loved to fight and was having a blast chasing the archers around as they tried to outrun a huge ass Qunari with blood lust. Sera had bees. Orta didn’t need to say much else. They were bees. Bees. 

Orta was still quick as a shadow. Knick, cut, slice, dig it in at the joints and flip away. When they had slaughtered the rest of the group the person at the top of the incline called out to them, “Whoa-ho-ho! Hold on! I was  _ not  _ aware that the Inquisition was personally involved. This is a tragic misunderstanding. Let’s all sheath our sword and bow, walk out, and we can conduct this like business.”  

Sera all but stormed toward the voice and Orta sighed, “Things have gone sour. As they tend to do. Hoo-ra.” 

“Least we got to work out some anger.” Bull chuckled as they followed Sera to one of the road torches. An older man with greying hair was waiting for them as Sera sneered and tapped her foot at him, arms crossed. The man didn’t seem too worried. 

“There.” the man said when all of them had come close, “That wasn’t so hard, was it? We identified the confusion, and we worked past it. I’m Lord Pel Harmond. I do hope, Inquisition agent, that you continue to listen to reason. After all, your choice of company is hardly...virtuous.” 

He looked at all them with a look of equal part disgust and disdain. 

Sera spat at his feet, “Fricking user, you are! Another noble prick who punches  _ down.”  _

“We’re the same, you and I. Well that is overstating it. You are nothing like me. But we both need people.” Harmond looked at Orta then, “Don’t we?” 

Orta raised an eyebrow at him, “This ambush was  _ your  _ doing, or did you get amnesia in the last ten seconds?” 

“Granted,” Harmond said and folded his arms behind his back, “it wasn’t a direct attack, but the first move was hers—and yours—so it seems.” 

“Now he wants to talk.” Bull muttered.

“Bull is right. You want to talk  _ now,”  _ Orta said and cocked her hip, “but Sera is an ally. You attacked her friend.” 

Harmond rolled his eyes, “Come now, you know how much her meddling has cost me? Because apparently you were complicit.” 

“Ass-biscuit.” Sera snapped. 

“Quite. Agent, I don’t want to be enemies. I am  _ barely  _ invested in being her enemy.” Harmond said and pointed at Sera, “If you are willing to recognize an opportunity, I would be an exceptional partner for the Lady Herald.” 

Orta scoffed, “Partners like you get the kid enemies. She needs  _ territory,  _ not nobles with their heads stuck up their own asses.”

“What are you doing?!” Sera hissed, “He’s half the mess in Verchiel!”

“I know that.” Orta snapped back, “And now he’ll have to recruit the other half for us.” 

Harmond laughed, “You can’t make me do  _ anything,  _ you have no power.” 

“Not true.” Solas sniffed, “As agents of the Herald—and as it was written by all sovereign rulers of all nations—the Herald and any who work for and are loyal to her, may use, take, or borrow as hold and keep,  _ anything _ they need during this tying time. We are allowed to operate with Grey Warden treaties, without being Grey Wardens.”  

Bull laughed, “So, we can tell you what to do.” 

“Lord Harmond,” Orta said with a smirk, “consider your lands and titles requisitioned.  _ You  _ wanted to bargain, so think really carefully over your options.” 

Harmond scowled and then coughed, schooling his face into blankness, “Surprising, disappointing, but welcome over the alternatives.” 

“Won’t be hearing from you again.” Sera laughed.

“Be sure to return the favor.” Harmond deadpanned and walked away. 

*************

Cullen could feel it. Like a thirst you could paint. He was digging his nails into his palms and taking deep breaths. His body was shaking as he lie under his covers. He was both too hot and too cold. His stomach growled for food and also rebelled at the mere though. He had told Jim to keep everyone today. 

He need to ride out the voices. Not even prayer helped him. He heard the door to his office open. He grit his teeth together harder. He wanted to be alone. Someone was coming up the ladder. He fisted the blankets. 

Leave him alone. 

He just wanted to be left  _ alone _ in his misery. 

**_Was that so much to ask?!_ **

“Baba?” Abelas asked softly. 

Cullen felt his eyes snap open. She didn’t need to deal with this. She didn’t need to  _ see _ him like this. No child should see their parent brought so low. He cleared his throat, “My darling, I’m a little sick. I don’t want you to catch it. I’ll be be-better in the morning.” 

He heard her shift her weight by his bed, “Oh...are you ok? Do you need water?” 

He need lyrium. He had a whole box downstairs at the top of the bookshelf. Abelas could go get it and bring it back. She wouldn't know. It was just a box to her. He licked his lips. It was  _ tempting  _ to ask. He took a deep breath, “No, my sweet darling. I just need rest.” 

She put something near his head and gave him a kiss through the blankets. She was soon gone and the door shut. Cullen reached out and took what she had left into his den of blanket. Mr. Gold, her rabbit. She had left her rabbit for him. How pitiful was he? 

He buried his face into it and wept. 

How pitiful was he?

************

Sera was—somehow—angry at her. For what, Orta didn’t really know and was honestly a little afraid to ask. Sera was an amazing shot and Orta was a mediocre dodger at best. Bull helped her get over that though. Any man or woman was brave when they had killed their common sense with booze and song. So as she made her way up to Seras room, and the booze began to ware off. She didn’t want to disappoint Sera, or have Sera be mad at her. 

She  _ liked  _ Sera. 

Not just because she was a good looker with her cute smile and dimples, but because Orta understood her. The jokes, the pranks, the way she talked, the way she thought. Sera was her kind of girl and dammit, she maybe—not that she would ever admit out loud— _ loved  _ Sera a little bit. Just a little. So when she knocked on her door, all she heard was swearing. That didn’t mean anything. Sera swore happy or mad. 

Sera threw the door open, rolled her eyes, and went back to her bed of pillows. She flopped down hard enough to knock her heels on the floor. Orta closed the door behind her and went to sit near the open window. Always have an escape route. Sera didn’t speak and Orta waited. Finally Sera shot up and began to pace in front of her. Her arms moving wildly and her face pinched in irritation.

“You made a  _ deal  _ with that pisshead,” Sera fumed, “after everything, you made a deal with him! That—that mother pussbucket frigging bastard shitebag pissface! He—you—argh! That noble is a lop-eared, son of an arse-nut-rot suck piece of  **_UGH_ ** !!”

Orta rubbed her temples, “You know what?!”

“What?!” Sera snapped.

“Ugh...nevermind. I’m letting it go. I don’t want to fight.”

Sera stopped and looked at her, “Well...how generous. Thanks...I guess?”

“Sure.” Orta yawned. Sera was suddenly in her personal space and her eyes were narrowed as she looked at Orta, “Uh...yes?”

“Right. What do ya mean that?” Sera said and sat down next to her, throwing her feet into Ortas lap, “Because I am  _ really  _ not used to that...acceptance thing you're doing right there.”

Orta rubbed her ankle, “Sera, we have our difference but I wanna be one of your...friends. And not Red Jenny—I mean I don’t mind it—but I mean as like, a friends. Or whatever. I don’t want your Red Jenny thing to get in the way of you staying here. I  _ like  _ having you around, Sera.”

Sera chuckled, “You’re just the cutest little…” she trailed off into giggles and Orta smiled. She didn’t mind it when Sera called her little. Sera said it different than everyone else.


	14. The Champion of Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All men are equal when they die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da’lath’in(little heart)  
> Vheraan’bae(papa lion)  
> senatha’mae(mama dragon)  
> Fenorain(darling)

Varric sent the letter and said it would take a few weeks to get to his friends. Weeks later before they got to Skyhold since one of them was expecting something. In the meantime there was much to do and everyone was busy. As Cullen and Maraas talked about the missing troops along with the information about how to get them back, Cullen clicked his tongue on his teeth and then chuckled. Maraas looked at him with a very dull expression—mostly due to lack of sleep and stress— and a raised eyebrow. He said he would go to get his men then, since Abelas was just as much his responsibility as it was hers. She rolled her eyes and said that if he wanted to go when she was going back to the Hinterlands to do some errands and image control, then be her guest.

Orta and Damen also had much to do. Orta and Leliana talked about where more Red Templars had been seen causing a disturbance. The Western Approach was—according to maps and what others had said of it—a large wasteland of empty  _ nothing _ , peppered with a few flat plateaus of rock. It had, at one point, been a mining colony for the rich and powerful in several nations, the biggest and most influential being Val Royeaux. Leliana had been hearing rumors of slave trade, missing people, an opening for the Darkspawn and worse yet, sightings of a High Dragon prowling around. There was also a fort there that would be put to better use under their control than the bandits who often passed through. Orta didn’t mind. 

Dark places and nothing but sand had never bothered her. She had grown up in the dwarven capital, she had seen Dust Town. She wanted some action too. The Dragon she wanted no part of; Maraas and Bull could tackle that monster when they got around to it. Orta went to see Sera first, see if she wanted to tag along. Sera was always up to fight and said she would. Orta sighed and itched along the prickly parts of her scalp where the hair was growing back. She was going to have to shave again soon. She wandered down to see the warriors train and laughed her ass off when Blackwall sent a heavy blade elf crashing into the fence and flip him over the fance, ass over tea kettle. 

He looked at her as she laughed, snorting and bending double. 

“M’lady.” he said as he wiped his face off with his shirt and jumped the fence to stand in front of her—after helping the elf onto his feet—and cleared the training arena that Cullen and Cassandra had set up until a proper one could be built, “I didn’t expect you to be here while the sun was still out and bright. I would have thought that you and Sera would be sleeping off your late night pranks.” 

Orta gave a snort and an eyeroll, “Would be, but miss cloak and dagger wanted to see me and told me some very horrible things that make you, well—they make you smile.” 

“Such as?” 

“Darkspawn. Desert. Missing people. Slavery, that’s always a sunny and pleasant subject to talk about at the _ ass crack of dawn _ .” 

Blackwall gave a huff and crossed his arms, “I suspect that you told Sera and she jumped for joy. And you heard ‘darkspawn’ and though to come and try and butter me up to go with you to the Western Approach.”

Orta narrowed her eyes at him, “I didn’t say where we were going.” 

“Desert can only mean two things. Either The Western Approach were people sometimes go and dig up old dead things, or the Hissing Waste, where there is truly  _ nothing _ , except the dead and forgotten. So, when do we leave?” 

“You wanna come?” Orta asked with a smile on her face. 

“You need a Grey Warden, and I would feel like a brute if I sent two women off to that vast desert alone to face Darkspawn.”

Orta chuckled and gave a light punch to his upper knee and he moved his leg back, “We leave tomorrow. Now, I have to go and talk to Varric. We need one more person.” 

“Good luck. Cassandra is watching him like a hawke.” 

Orta shrugged her shoulders as she walked away and called over her shoulder, “I don’t get involved in lovers spats.” 

Varric, when asked if he was busy just said he would meet her at the gate come morning. 

“You...don’t want to know where...we are even  _ going _ ?” she asked him slowly. 

Varric shot her a look over the top of the page he was trying to edit, Cassandra was near the door to Josephine's office, watching him, “I need some alone time. Bianca is getting mighty jealous of this attention being given to me by Lady  _ Seek and Destroy _ over there.”

Orta looked at her out of the corner of her eye and then back at Varric, “So on a scale of attempted murder to punt kicking you off the highest mountain while you are dressed in gold and she’s smiling,—how pissed is she going to be when that great and powerful _ Magister Hawke _ arrives with her husband?” 

Varric rested his head on his hand, the other drumming along the table, “She might try to feed me to a dragon piece by piece. I hope she’ll be too star struck by Hawke to pay me much attention while I slip away.” 

Orta moved herself to sit on the tabletop across from Varric, her body turned to still be able to talk to him, “Did she really do all that stuff? Did she  _ really _ burn down a whole section of the Imperium as a dragon? Kill that evil dark lord asshat? Marry the former slave turned freeman? Spare the former Qunari Arishok?” 

Varric nodded his head, “Hawke did. She even stopped me from killing my brother. I think back about it sometimes and...I’m glad she did. I’m angry that he tried to kill me—don’t get me wrong—but it's more a low ember than a fire now. He isn’t even who he was anymore anyway. I think I might have come to regret it.” 

Orta chuckled and crossed her legs under her, holding her ankles in one hand as the other braced her weight on the table, “How sad that you think you’d come to regret it.” 

Varric raised an eyebrow at her and then smirked, leaning back in his chair, “Not all of us can be cold blooded killers and feel no remorse, Firecracker. I think you and Chuckles can have hours of discussion on that front.” 

Orta began to play with a loose piece of string on her tunic, rolling it between her fingers as she spoke, “I kill all the time; so do you. Regret should be given to those who didn’t have to die, not to those who deserve it.” 

“It that your logic?” 

She jumped from the table and looked at Varric, her eyes hard, “No. It’s my creed. Do onto others because they deserve it.” 

Varric tapped his quill on the table for a few moments and spoke, “I’ll see you at the gate. Should I pack something warm?” 

“If you wanna die of heatstroke, sure.” 

Damen—unlike Orta—was having a hard time getting Dorian to agree to come with him to the Exalted Plains. Below them, painting, Solas was trying not to laugh too loudly. 

“Dorian…”

He shook his head as he moved books from one shelf to another, “No. I am not going to go marching about a civil war dressed to impress and only have  _ one  _ person admire it. Ask Bull, I’m sure he’d love to go back to war.” 

Damen sighed, “I did ask him. I need two more people.” 

“So I was your second choice?” Dorian gasped. 

“You were my first,” Damen explained, “but you sleep like the  _ dead _ and I couldn’t keep knocking at your door until my hand broke to ask you this. Bull was awake and I asked him; he said yes. Now  _ you’re  _ awake and I’m asking you.” 

Dorian gave a boyish huff as he looked at the title of a book, a thick tome of faded purple leather, and threw it over his shoulder—going over Damen’s shoulder with ease—and down into the room Solas had claimed as his own when they had arrived, the thud of it landing on the table made Damen jump a little. 

“Thank you, Master Dorian.” Solas called up sarcastically. 

“You are welcome, you  _ hobo _ apostate.” Dorian called back cheerfully.

“Dorian.” Damen sighed, and then leaned on the railing behind him, “I am asking you because I need another mage. Warriors are something I’ve been around for a ong time, and for once I would like to speak to another mage.” 

Dorian gave a noble sniff, “You speak to Vivienne.” 

“She acts like we’re at court. I just want to  _ talk _ .” 

“Who else would be coming?”

Damen thought about it for a moment and then turned to call down, “Solas! Would you like to come with us to the Exalted Plains?” 

“When would we be leaving?” Solas asked as he added a highlight on the deco-art he was making. It looked like the Conclave. 

“A few days!” 

Silence and then, “Very well. I accept.” 

Dorian gave a squeak of anger and turned Damen to face him, his tan face flushed with anger, “Are you  _ completely _ mad?” 

“You didn’t want to come!” Damen said as he lifted his hands in front of him, Dorian's hand held him tight by his shoulders. 

“I never said that!” 

Solas called up, “You said you didn’t want to go into a civil war zone and not be  _ admired _ for how you look.” 

Dorian almost jumped the railing and Damen had to steady him as he pointed down at Solas with a shaking finger, “ _ You _ keep your fat nose in your “tea” you shady dream walker.” 

Solas looked up at them with a smirk and wiped down one of his paint brushes, “Then don’t play coy. Just say yes, you know you’re coming.” 

Dorian gave a huff and threw up his arms, “I am surrounded by smart mouthed upstarts!” he placed his hands on his hips and then smirked at Damian, “I  _ love _ being here because of that. Fine, I’ll come.” 

“Thank you, Dorian.” 

“You can thank me by finding a good pink wine.” 

Damian frowned, “You don’t want any Ferelden Ale?” 

Dorian mock gasped and clutched his heart, “The  _ horror _ ! What do you take me for?”

“An Altus with no taste.” Damian said at the same time as Solas spoke. 

“A man who can never shut up.” Solas called up. 

Dorian flew at the railing again, yelling down at Solas, “Can you not see we are trying to have a conversation without  _ you _ in it?!” 

“Then maybe don’t speak so loud.” 

“Not all of us are such high and might prissy elves!” 

Damen took that moment to slip away as Fiona and many of the other mages in the library turned to glare at them. As he came out of the door leading to the library he saw Orta walk out of the great hall. Coming in was a very pudgy man in Antivan attire, feathers and gold and too much perfume. He walked with a cane, leaning heavily on it, his brow was sweaty and in his arms were many, many books. Abelas was still waking up, sitting at one of the low tables, eating a meal of hashbrowns, eggs and boiled ham. She was holding her rabbit close to her chest, and her chewing was slow, her eyes droopy. Josephine it seemed was expecting the man because she came out of her office with a smile on her face and jump in her step. 

As he looked around he saw that Maraas was not there to act as a buffer. Damen debated for a moment before going back into the library and the noise of Solas and Dorian throwing playful barbs at each other. That man was either going to get angry at Abelas and complain to Maraas, which would not end well, or run screaming for the hill because of Abelas herself. She enjoyed learning, she just had a bad habit of learning what  _ she _ wanted and when she wanted to learn it. She was so headstrong for a child. But this wasn’t a surprise to him. She had seen too much to let herself be told what to do and how to do it when she seemed to know so much already. 

**********

The new teacher smelled like peaches. And sweat. But mostly peaches. He had bowed to her and said it was an honor to tutor the chosen from on high. She had simply kept eating as Josephine got him caught up on what she had learned and how far she had come. Her other tutors either died in Haven or left from Skyhold. The man only nodded and set his books down across from her on the table and thanked Josephine as he took a seat. He mopped his brow and set his cane on the chairs next to him. She took a sip of her milk. The man smiled at her and she took a bite of her eggs, the yolk sticky on her chin. 

“Your ladyship, allow me to introduce myself. I am a lower lord in Antiva, and as you can see I am short, fat and suffer from a bad knee. But I am a man of learning, and Lady Montilyet asked me to teach you because I was able to teach her brothers. They were right devils. But I taught them, and they learned.” 

“Are you going to smack my hands when I count numbers on them?” she asked as she hugged her rabbit close. One of the tutors had liked to do that, saying that she needed to learn how to count without the aid of her fingers. Why she  _ never _ understood. Her fingers were a part of her, and it was easy to keep track of the numbers in her head if she could see her fingers counting them off in front of her. 

“No. Now, may I call you by your name or shall I call you by your family name?” 

Abelas frowned, “My...name?” 

The man smiled, “Very good. Then you may call me Garrett. My full name is Lord Garrett Corvo Gerald Del Luna. But that is too long for lessons, so Garrett will do. Now, once you are done eating and getting ready, what would you like to learn first?” 

Abelas narrowed her eyes at him, “Why ask me?” 

“Because it is  _ you _ who needs to learn, I already know things. But if I make you learn them you might very well forget them. So, you decided what we learn first, and we can go from there.” 

“What if I don’t want to learn anything? What if I want to play all day?” Abelas snapped at him as she wiped her face off on her sleeve.

Garrett only smiled and folded his hands, “Then that is your choice. If you do want to learn, I will be right here waiting for you.” 

Abelas let her hands rest in her lap, her rabbit leaning on her stomach, “Really?” 

“Really. So, if today is a day of play, then go and be free.” 

“I will!” 

“Have fun.” 

Abelas moved from her chair, standing next to the table, “I’m leaving.” 

“I see that.” 

Abelas took a step back, “I’m going away now.” 

Garrett picked up one of his books, placing a silk bookmark on his lap, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Abelas.” 

Abelas hovered on the steps leading up from the dining tables, and Garrett kept on reading. She took a seat again and waited. He looked up and smiled at her, “Did you forget something?” 

“You’ll teach me things if I ask?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you won’t get mad and make me learn stuff I don’t want to know?” 

“No. You’ll either learn it and know it or learn it and hate every second of it.” 

Abelas played with her forgotten fork, “I don’t like numbers.” 

“Then we can do math last. The two days at the end of the week are yours to do with as you please. I’ll make you a deal. We can learn math last. The last day before the two days off, and as the last lesson. It is the only lesson I will not give you a choice on. Deal?” 

“Only one day a week at the end of the day?” 

“Yes.” 

Abelas looked down at her rabbit and then nodded her head, sticking out her sticky yolk dried hand, “Deal.” Garrett shook her hand anyway. 

“What would you like to learn first?” 

“The brain and body and stuff. How does it  _ work _ ?” 

Garrett smiled at her and placed his bookmark back into the book, grabbing another and opening it, turning the words to face her, “My dear girl, that is a lesson that will horrify and fascinate you. Let’s start with the basics.” 

*******

Dinner was always an interesting affair. The whole inner circle was gathered around at the war table, the maps and plans put away from the food and drink. Abelas always sat in a chair with a raised seat to be able to get to the table. Varric and Orta did too but no one ever brought it up. Tonight was a calmer night. For the most part. Orta and Sera kept poking fun at Dorian and he gave back as good as he got. Abelas was sawing at her meat on her plate, her face narrowed in focused on trying to get her meat into smaller pieces. Maraas and Vivienne were talking, as were Cullen and Blackwall. Orta rolled her eyes when she saw Abelas trying to cut her own meat. 

“Hey, Curly,” Cullen snapped his head to look at her and she used her fork to point at Abelas who had given up on her knife and instead had grabbed the whole thing with both of her hands to hold it as she tried to gnaw through the half-cut meat with her dull baby teeth, “help her small holiness with that meat before she dies of hunger.” 

Cole—sitting near Abelas but not eating, only pretending to eat with a fork and knife and empty cup at his elbow—looked up, eyes wide and watery, “She won’t die of hunger. She has food in front of her. The jaw will be sore from trying to tear with dull teeth but she won’t die of hunger. That is a painful death. Everything  _ hurts _ when you’re hungry.” 

Abelas looked at Cole and put her meat down on her plate and picked her up rabbit from between legs and held it out to Cole, who looked at it for a moment and then took it, holding it like glass. She smiled at him and pointed to the yellow buttons, “He has my eye color!” 

“He’s...almost real. Like you before you were born. You have to be  _ loved _ to be real, but love can be felt by anything. Even the cat you found when you were very tiny. Love can come from anyone or  _ anything _ , and once you love and are loved in return, then you are as real as the stars in the sky and vast universe beyond them.” 

Abelas looked down at her plate as Cullen pulled it closer to him to cut her meat and she only nodded her head for a moment, “All we ever see of the stars are their old memories.” 

Cole nodded his head, “They saw many things—they saw the other worlds far from this one be born—the monster that came from the void, made of metal and logic to eat them whole, the woman with fire in her soul who stood atop them, a victor, but dead and gone, her memory sang on forever. The metal men and woman with souls she saved, the warriors who looked more like turtles she gave back to them the gift of being able to have children again. She loved a man who was not a man, always at a machine with light, saying he needed to calibrate it. She saved a lot of people but she had to  _ die _ to do it. She wanted to shepard in a better way of life. Even when she had to make life or death choices, she did it anyway, because she knew she had to; in another universe she was a man, the same but different, and in love with the same not-man who liked to toy with the light machine. The stars were sad that day, but they can’t sing her song anymore, they too have died—only their echoes sing at us now.” 

Everyone was silently looking at Cole as he flicked his thumb nail under the yellow button of the rabbit. Abelas looked as though she had been told a wonderful story that had not been finished and she was waiting for the climax. 

“That,” Vivienne said as she took a sip of her wine, “sounds as though it is more of your  _ demon _ talk than any knowledge of value.” 

Solas looked right at her and raised an eyebrow as he asked, “And who are  _ you _ to judge what is and is not credible knowledge?” 

She gave him a charming smile, “When one speaks to demons too long, they tend to lose their common sense and their sense of morality, darling. Between you, Master Damen, and Master Dorian, I am the only mage  _ qualified _ to give credible doubt about the life of a woman who may very well be a work of fiction.” 

Dorian looked at Vivienne and smirked at her, “I dare say, that the Dalish would think the same thing about the ginger who became the bride of The Maker.”

This time Cassandra set her cup down harshly, her glare hot enough to curl milk, and snapped at Dorian, “She was woman who fought and died for what she  _ believed _ in. The Maker chose her because of her conviction and tender soul.” 

Dorian lifted up his hands in surrender, “No need to try and bite my head, Cassandra. I am a devout believer in the Andrastian faith. But I am a man of science as well as faith. So forgive me if I do tend to question a few things about the legend we have been given.” 

Cullen glared at Dorian as well, “Does your  **science** have a say in how cruel thing happen to people who don’t deserve it?” 

“Statistically speaking it is all based on probability—if the large group of people in the world is power hungry and cruel, than the weaker group with less people—will always be subject to their abuse.” 

Blackwall gave a snort, “Speaking from  _ experience _ , Pavus?” 

Damen ducked his head, “You would blame us for the deeds of your ancestors?” 

Sera stood up so quickly that her chair slammed into the stone floor under her, “You two can’t be all “oh feel bad for me ‘cause I’m kinda a good prat,” both of you were fancy asses with golden spoons and too much time on your hands and you didn’t  _ change _ shite when you had the power to change it! Now you have to live like us, poor and tired and angry at the whole world and  **NOW** you want to change the world ‘cause now you know how shite being a not noble is!” 

Vivienne chuckled and set her wine glass on the table, “Nobles have always only looked out for their best interest, Sera darling, and those in lower positions must  _ always _ suffer for it.” 

Orta rolled her eyes, “You’re a mage before you’re a lady. Doesn’t that make  _ you _ lower than a peasant here in the south?” 

The table exploded into arguments, words and harsh jabs flying across the table. Leliana and Josephine tried to get them to calm down but nothing seemed to work. Abelas watched in growing horror as the voices got louder and fingers were pointed. She covered her ears and closed her eyes. It was too  _ loud _ . The demons had been loud like this. She could feel herself shaking and Cole tucked her rabbit back into her lap, to give her some comfort.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She jumped up on her chair and then onto the table, stomping her foot down as hard as she could on the wood, yelling at the top of her lungs, “ **SHUT UP!** ” Her chest felt tight and then a force echoed out of her. Everyone froze, expressions frozen in shock as they looked at her. She caught her breath, holding her rabbit close to her chest. She didn’t know what she had done. A low clap of thunder made her turn and the world was very different. It was no longer the war room.

It was a frozen and empty looking throne room, walls crumbling softly, falling in slow motion as though caught in amber. On a throne of silver and opal, Falon’Din sat, one leg hooked over the armrest and swinging back and forth. In his hands he held a large shard of glass, and he was turning it this way and that. The same green light that her anchor gave off shone from inside of the shard. He looked at her then, the golden lyrium singing softly under his skin. She shivered in the cold and hugged Mr. Gold closer to her. Falon’Din placed the shard down on his liap and gave her three very slow and mocking claps, his hands looking old and withered rather than young and firm like she had last seen them. 

“I must say I am **impressed** _Da’lath’in,”_ he chuckled and then picked up the shard again, looking back at it, “I didn’t think you would get my gift of time.” 

“Time?” 

Falon’Din chuckled, “Indeed. It was a useful tool, to help me think. My family often argued like that. Freezing time made it easy to slip away when I didn’t want to deal with them or think up a snappy comeback.” 

Abelas shivered again as the wind blew harshly from the outside. Wherever the outside of  _ here _ even was, “What other gifts did you have?” 

“Many. What I touched I could age and wither. I could rain down hell fire and spread famine and plague. Play with  _ time _ . Steal  **youth** . But,” he said and then tapped the glass on his chin, voice turning mocking, “I don’t think that your  _ Vheraan’bae,  _ or your sweet  _ Isenatha’mae,  _ would be very happy if did that. They don’t  _ like _ mages, or so they said.” 

Abelas frowned at him, “They didn’t say that.” 

“They didn’t  _ not _ say it.” he chuckled and threw the glass up where it stayed and twirled in the air. Falon’Din swung his leg back down to the floor and gripped the armrest tightly in his hands, the metal and opal creaking and cracking under his fingers, “Tell me,  _ Fenorain,  _ would they still  _ care _ about you if they knew that you would become a god of death? I mean it’s not like they love you. You are more of an obligation than a child born from love or even lust.” 

“That’s not true,” Abelas said softly, looking down at her feet, “Ashihari told me—”

“Ashihari is  _ dead _ and gone. She died by demon hands. What did she tell you? Let me guess.” Falon’Din said and stood up, tall and dark and very, very cold, moving toward Abelas, “That she found you. A poor babe lost and alone in the world. And she took you in out of the kindness of her heart. But that isn’t true.” 

“You’re lying!” 

“Why lie?” 

Abelas scowled at him and stomped her feet to keep warm, “You lie about  **everything** !” 

“Oh,” he chuckled and ducked down at the waist to speak to her face to face, “are you not wise? So young and idealistic. A champion of the  _ just and righteous. _ ” 

Abelas felt her lower lip tremble, “Why are you being so mean?”

“I have seen the future. And I weep.” 

She flinched as she felt something grab her arm and then she was back. Cole was looking at her and she was standing in the garden, the grass cold and damp under her feet. The blades tickled her ankles. She could feel the dampness of her cheeks. Cole wiped at her face, his fingers rough and his gloves rougher. She sniffed to clear her nose. She could hear her name being called. 

She wiped at her eyes and Cole held her arm, tight and real. Not to hurt but to keep her grounded, “Thank you, Cole.” 

“You talk to a deep, dark, shadow. Tall and taunting. A liar but is he  _ lying _ ? Died, die, will die. Too much information and yet there is nothing he is not,  **_NOT_ ** telling me.” he stops and then looks up at the stars, “He is far away now, but he is too close at the same time.” he looks down at her and moves to sit on his knees and holds her hands, “You are you, and he is not you. You are  _ always _ you, even when you don’t think you are. Sometimes you have to lie to yourself until you feel better. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” 

“I know, Cole. You’re a good person.” 

“They are all looking for you. They didn’t say sorry to each other.” 

Abelas nods her head, “They have to say sorry on their own. I can’t make them.” 

Cole looks at her, eyes such a light and watery blue, “You are a  _ better _ person than him. He made people do things, even when they didn’t want to.”

“I know, he made them do horrible things.” she whispered. 

“He was a bad man.” 

“And now?” 

“He’s not a better man, but he isn’t as bad as he was.” Cole answers and stands up, holding her hand and walking back toward the others. Everyone was tense around each other for a few weeks. 

***********

Dirthamen looked at his brother as he sat upon the throne he once sat upon in the living world, “Why the sudden change of heart?” 

“I saw it.” Falon’Din whispered, “I saw it.” 

“The future?” Dirthamen asked as he tilted his head, “You have said yourself that any future you see is not set in stone.” 

“......”

“What?” 

“The book of the dead. I saw it, it yet lives on.” 

Dirthamen paled, “Where?” 

“I do not know,” Falon’Din admitted, “but it is coming to meet her. If she reads from that book, she shall fall to my fate. And the world will end. I have  _ seen _ it,” 

“No.” Dirthamen whispered and flew to find the others. 

Falon’Din wept. 

************

Hawke showed up a few days after the fight. She came heavily pregnant and with Fenris. Varric met them at the gate with open arms and a smile on his lips. Maraas and the council went as well. Varric and Hawke spoke for a length, her tan hands curled atop her extended belly. Fenris kept one hand on her lower back, rubbing slow but steady circles into her spine. He kept looking around—slow and careful—eyes wary of everyone. 

They lingered on Maraas for a moment longer than everyone else but then moved on. Abelas was still asleep, since the dawn had only risen an hour or so before. Hawke herself looked exhausted; her eyes tired and dark marks deep under her eyes. Maraas told them to go and rest for the day, that they could talk when Hawke was well rested. Fenris had no objections to this and was happy to take his wife to the room that had been set aside for them. The day was tense with unspoken words and Cassandra kept glaring at Varric the whole damn day. Varric seemed to be happy enough to ignore her.

As Abelas went about her lessons she saw Fenris walk past the table she was practicing her letters. She watched as he talked to Varric at his table and then went back toward his room. She played with her quill and decided that she would go and say hello when she was done with her letters. Once she was done she took her rabbit with her as she went to room that she had overheard the servants say The Champion and her husband had been put in. She knocked on the door a few times and smiled up at Fenris when he opened the door. He blinked down at her for a long moment and then squatted down to look at her eyes. He pushed her fringe of hair away from her face and then chuckled. 

“You have the same color of eyes like my Bernadette.” he told her quietly. 

“I came to say hello!” she chirped and then blushed, “Is she...is miss Hawke really pretty?” 

“Almost as pretty as you.” he said with a smile. He was very handsome. Abelas giggled and hid her face in her rabbit. 

“Abelas!” Maraas snapped from the end of the hall. Fenris turned his head to look at her and Abelas waved wildly at Maraas. 

“Hi, Tama!” 

“What are you doing?” Maraas asked as she came to stand next to Abelas, “You know better than to run off and talk to strangers.”

Fenris stood up and leaned against the doorframe, “She was being a very nice host and greeting us. I must say she is doing an excellent job at being the leader of this...organization.” 

“She is not…”Maraas started and then looked down at Abelas and sighed heavily, “...I suppose she is, in a way.” 

“You do not have a true leader?” he asked her with a frown. 

“The leader is the council.” Maraas said in way of an answer. 

A soft voice called from inside the room, “Fenris? Who’s there?” 

Fenris called over his shoulder, “The tiny Herald and the qunari woman.” 

“Maraas Addar and Abelas Lavellan. I am her guardian.” Maraas said in way of explanation. Abelas rocked back and forth on her heels. 

“Well, let them in. Don’t be rude, love.” Hawke said. Fenris moved away from the door and held it open. Maraas picked up Abelas as they went into the room. Hawke was on the bed, propped up on pillows and under a thick quilt. She smiled at Maraas and Abelas. Maraas set Abelas down on the carpet. Hawke shifted until she was sitting and patted the bed in front of her. Abelas came over and climbed on. Maraas stood at the foot. Fenris sat down in the chair near his wife. Hawke reached out her hand and ran it through the thick hair of the tiny child in front of her. She smiled, tired and true. Abelas smiled up at her and held up her rabbit. 

“This is Mr. Gold.” she said proudly. 

Hawke shook the rabbits hand, “It is nice to meet you, Mr. Gold. And you, Abelas.” she looked up at Maraas and gave a slow nod to her, “And you as well, Miss Adaar.”

"You're Hawke?" she asked, for she had only seen Hawke when she had come into Skyhold. She had never truly met the woman who had been called The Champion of Kirkwall. The Dragon’s daughter, when she had freed the slaves from the Tevinter Imperium. Hawke gave a small chuckle and rubbed at the taut skin of her belly under the covers. 

"Sadly, yes." 

"Didn't you burn down a whole section of the Imperium before running off with ten thousand slaves to Kirkwall?" Maraas asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Hawke blushed, "Well, not.... _ TEN _ thousand." 

Fenris rolled his eyes and answered in a deadpan voice, "She saved eight thousand slaves and their family members. Two thousand "free men and women" who came of their own free will. So—yes, ten thousand people were saved from Tevinter." 

"Can you turn into a dragon?" Abelas asked her in awe. 

Hawke nodded, "Not a big one but...yeah, I can turn into a dragon when I get really mad." 

Abelas seemed to be starstruck as she stared at Hawke with an open mouth. Fenris and Hawke each told her stories until Hawke gave a long yawn. Maraas shooed Abelas out of the room, telling her to go and tell Varric to meet her and then go and keep Cullen company until supper. Abelas jumped from the bed and demanded a kiss before leaving. Maraas swung her up and onto her hip before peppering her face with kisses and swinging her back down. Abelas landed on the floor with a solid  _ thump  _ and almost fell as she tried to take off running. She caught herself and waved to Hawke as she went out of the room, her rabbit clutched in the other hand. A tense silence came over the room as Hawke looked down at her stomach—she looked up at Maraas and then opened her mouth to ask something—before shutting it and looking down again. Maraas only kept her arms folded and her face calm. 

“You can ask.” she said and Hawke looked up at her and smiled shyly. 

“It’s a rather  _ rude _ question.” she admitted. 

Maraas gave her a small smirk, “If it's a rude question then by all means, ask it; one learns nothing of their ignorance if they do not ask questions to guide them from it.” 

“She called you “Tama” when she saw you,” Hawke said slowly, “I was just wondering...from what Fenris has told me from when he was...away, Tama is a title used by the females under the Qun, who raise children and…”

Maraas finished for her, “We are whores, in a way. We raise children that are not our own and give our kin away to others to raise. We are used as breeding stock and we call it equal. The Qun works in some areas of life, but others...well, I have never  _ seen _ any of my children. The only one I ever did was a mage and they destroyed him. Abelas is my only one left. All the others have been lost to me. She is the only thing in this world that is more  _ precious _ to me than my life. You’ll understand soon.” 

Hawke smiled down at her belly, “I have twin younger siblings. I kinda hope that I have twins. A boy and girl. Then I can name them after the people I’ve lost and love them. Fenris doesn’t think so though.” 

“Twins will be hard to raise,  _ amatus _ .” he said with a sigh, “But I will love them be they a single child, twins, triplets. So long as they are healthily and have nothing to fear from the world.” 

“Even if they are born as mages?” 

“If they are anything like their mother, the world will be better off with them in it.” He answered as he leaned forward and curled his hand around one of hers, bringing it to his lips to kiss. She blushed at this and Varric came in, shutting the door behind him. 

Maaras left as he came in.

*******

Cullen could no longer take not knowing what had happened to his men and if they fared well or not. He told Leliana and Maraas that he was leaving for the swamps and the Avaar, with three of his best men. Leliana didn’t seem to care one way or another so long as he came back  _ alive,  _ since he was the military leader of the Inquisition. He swore he would and he would bring back his men. He couldn’t fail them like he had failed those in the Tower. He woke in the dark, sweat sticky and heart pounding. Nightmares never left him but often got him up early enough to be of use. 

He went about washing, shaving, and getting his horse ready. He saw Cole on his way to the stables and gave the odd...boy a nod of his head in greeting. Cole kept humming to himself as he wandered off. Cullen paid him no mind. As the pre-dawn grey leaked into the sky he was greeted not by the mountain mist as he lead his horse to water to drink but Abelas. She was still in her tiny, pastel blue frock, bare feet curling in the damp grass. Her hair had taken offense to something in the night and stood at better attention than most of his men so early. 

She looked sleepy and her rabbit—the one he had made with shaky hands and little knowledge of comforting children—was held loving to her tiny chest. As the horse drank from the water draft he went to her and bent on one knee to speak to her. She rubbed at her eyes to remove the sleep dust. He smoothed her hair down and she smiled, tired and sweet and his heart hurt him. To think that some Avaar brute from the mountains wanted to fight a child to see if she was as what she had been labeled by others. A prophet from on high, chosen by the Maker. Cullen doubted it but at the same time...Abelas was not a normal child. 

Even in the grey hours where the world was silent as the grave and a not a soul seemed alive, he could see that. Something  _ dark _ was swimming down in her heart, and once in a great while you could see it in her eyes. Like a great fish under murky water. What evils lived under that patina of civility, he wondered. He rested his hand on her shoulder. 

“What are you doing up, my tiny one?” 

She lifted up her arms and curled them around his neck. He held her softly and stood as she spoke into his neck, “Had a bad dream about you.” 

“I have bad dreams as well.” he said softly as he gently rubbed her back, hoping to soothe her back into slumber, 

“What did you dream about?” she muttered into his neck. 

Cullen shuddered at the memory. Demons and blood; so much blood. So much  _ blood _ . He closes his eyes to ward the memory away. If he holds Abelas a little tighter she maked no noise of complaint nor does she protest it, “Something...something bad that happened long before you born, my small darling.” 

He can feel her smile into his neck, “My small darling. It sounds better when you say it instead of  _ him _ . He makes it sound so horrible.” 

Cullen doesn’t know who  _ he _ is but she often speaks of the man she sees in her dreams. The one who put the mark there or someone else they do not know for Abelas can never clearly remember her dreams. He runs a hand in soothing circles on her tiny, boney back, “What did you dream about that has sent you from a warm bed?” 

“You  **died** .” she says softly and plainly as though it is all a matter of fact. He has been walking in slow circles, bouncing softly like how mothers do to their babies to put them at ease. He stops at this and looks down at her soft nest of hair. 

“Well...I’m sorry I died then.” he tells her and plants a kiss on the crown of her skull. She hugs him a little tighter. 

“Duck left and go for his knees. He got hurt as a kid and his knees are weak.” she tells him—and he understand not a single thing about why she would tell him that—and he takes her back to her room as she does, “He’ll be mean and rude. But everyone will be alright. His men don’t like him at all. A man who watches the sky will come back with you if you ask him nicely.” 

“Oh?” Cullen asks as he climbs the stone steps toward the tall tower where Maraas and Abelas have been placed. The biggest room in the tallest tower. Now all they needed was a dragon to defend the castle and it would be a fairy tale. 

She yawns widely, “He’s very nice.” 

Maraas meets them on the stairs. She takes Abelas from Cullen with soft hands and thanks him. Cullen waves her off, “She’s tiny and sweet. No man worth his salt would steal her away from a very angry mother.” 

“Liar.” Maraas says with a smirk on her face and she goes back to their room. Cullen goes back to his horse and leaves at dawn with his men. 

**********

Standing upon the rim of the ruined circle, they saw all round below them a wide prospect, for the most part the lands were empty and featureless except for patches of woodland away to the south, beyond which they caught here and there the glint of distant water. Beneath them on this southern side there ran like a ribbon The Imperial Highway, coming out of the east and winding up and down until it faded behind a ridge of dark land to the south-east. Nothing was moving on it. Following its line southeastward with their eyes they saw the Kokari Wilds: the nearer foothills were brown and sombre; behind them stood taller shapes of grey, and behind those again were high white peaks glimmering among the clouds. Sera scowled like an angry thing and snapped, “There ain’t shite  _ here _ !” 

Orta can see that as she turns away from the image she had been looking back at. The Western Approach was...well...a lot of flat, brown/red sandy land, broken by dead and dying trees, and tall formations of rock that seemed to have faces of desperate souls clawing their way to freedom. The sun glared down at them, beating into their skin and raising sweat everywhere. They had seen odd animals—each as mean as the landscape—but they chose to keep their distance. Sera had begun the journey with creamy skin and freckles and now she was as red as the sand, peeling and panting in the heat. Blackwall fared no better, but he was not as vocal. Orta could feel the sun in her  _ soul  _ it was so hot. If people had been brought here so they could be smuggled into Tevinter for the slave trade, she doubted that they lasted long. Tevinter was—as Damen and Dorian had both admitted on several occasions—a land of heat and muggy humidity that the locals had been bred to enjoy and endure. It was the reason Dorian and Damen bitched about the cold so much. Heat was not an issue, the cold was. For everyone else it was the opposite.  

“There has to be  _ something _ here, Sera.” Orta sighed as her horse limps ahead of theirs. She turns in her seat to look at them, “And if those mage and red Templar bastards packed up camp, then we need to find out where they went and why.” 

“The darkspawn are a problem we need to take care of  _ now _ .” Blackwall said to them as he took out his waterskin and took a tiny sip of it before tucking it back into his pack, “They won’t stay idle for long. We don’t need another Blight on top of all of this.” 

“The slave trade needs to be looked at too.” Orta said, “Tevinter ain’t picky about slaves but elves are the ones they target the most.” 

Sera snorts at this, “Don’t know why. Ain’t like being an  _ elf _ is all that great.” 

Blackwall turned his head to look at her, “You truly don’t know your own people's history, do you, Sera?” 

“The past is past.” she snaps. 

“Not to the Imperium.” he tells her with a solemn expression, “They value the past because they used to be top dog and now they  _ aren’t _ . Elves were an “ _ immortal _ ” race that was felled by them. They keep elves as slaves more than any other  _ because _ they think that it is rubbing the elvhen races face in their centuries old defeat. Bastards.” 

“Not all of us are elfy though!” Sera says as she roughly grabs her water and takes a large gulp. Or five. She all but throws it back into the pack and points a finger at Blackwall, “I ain’t Solas or the little glowly Herald; I don’t give a  _ piss _ about the past. The past is past and the right now is the right now. And right now we got enough problems and there don’t seem to be a safe harbor in sight. So  _ fuck _ the Vints and their snobby dicks.” 

Orta laughs as they round bend. She stops her horse with a harsh jerk of the reins and feels her mouth drop open in  **terror** . She doesn’t know what they have in the fucking water here but it must make things  _ fucking huge  _ because that is not a dragon glaring down at her from on top of one of these rocky ass mountains. That is some campfire story dragon brought to life to scare her half to death. Sera and Blackwall both stop next to her. 

“Makers balls.” Blackwall breathes out. 

The dragon lets out a loud roar and takes off. Orta has half a mind to turn right around and tell Leliana to fuck the Western Approach. But she knows she can’t. She takes a deep breath and kicks the horse back into gear. Sera gives a squeak of fear. 

“Are you bloody  **crazy** ?” she yells. 

“Yep.” she calls over her shoulder. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Blackwall calls. 

“Fuck no.” she answers with a chuckle. 

Sera curses the rainbow as they go to their camp. 

Orta wants to curse too and does so under her breath.

*****************

Damen regrets his life choices. Not  _ all _ of them, but this one? He could have picked better travel mates. Bull makes passes at Dorian. Dorian makes a snappy comeback. Solas makes a sarcastic and deadpan comment. Damen tries to make the peace but their yelling drowns him out. 

Dorian retallates. 

Bull laughs. 

Damen is stuck in the middle as they walk. Bull flirts with him too but Damen is smart enough to let it roll off of him. Dorian—it seems—like to have his feather ruffled by Bull. Like right now. Right now he wishes he knew how Alexius messed with time so he could go back, smack himself and change his choices for who to bring with him. They have stopped for a very late lunch/early dinner combo and Dorian is glaring at Bull over the fire. Solas is sipping at his tea with a smirk in plain view. 

Damen has the best seat in the house and Solas is in the rafters so he sees even more than Damen but at a worse quality. He would  _ gladly _ trade him spots. Bull smirks—flirty and rough and at any other time it would have sent a pool of warmth in his stomach—but now it just irks him a little bit. Dorian sits up straighter, winding up for the retort. Bull is ready for it. It is a stroke of luck when one of the carrier ravens comes swooping down to land on top of his staff and squawks at them. Damen sends a silent  _ thank you _ to whoever sent the letter. 

He grabs the letter from the raven—who takes off with an offended look—and he looks at it. He frowns and stands up, walking over to Dorian and held the letter out to him. Dorian raises one elegant eyebrow and then gives him a flirty smirk as he takes the letter.

“A love letter?” he says with a tiny chuckle as he opens it, “How quaint. But I prefer the  _ direct _ approach.” 

Damen blushes crimson as Dorian winks at him before taking out the pale yellow paper that smells of Tevinter perfume. Jasmine and fine wine. 

Bull lets out a snort, “Is that so?” 

Dorian shoots him a glare before going back to his letter. Damen takes his seat once more and watches as Dorian goes through a few emotions before ripping the letter to pieces and throwing them into the fire harshly. Anger, disgust, some form of numb blankness before it settles into fear that morphs again into anger. Damen has a feeling that the letter was not one he was expecting nor one he  _ wanted _ . Bull and Solas seem to notice that Dorian has now entered into a silent rage. Dorian sat down harshly on the stump once more and gripped his hair into both hands, bracing his elbows on his knees. The paper burns away into ash as quickly as it entered the flames. 

Damen licked his lips, “Dorian?” 

Dorian seems to sink into himself as he takes a shaky breath and asks, “Yes, Damen?” 

Solas holds his tea cup firmly between his hands, “The letters has caused you distress, Master Pavus. Why is that?” 

“Yeah,” Bull says and crosses his arms, “you look like you’ve seen a  _ ghost _ from the past and not one you wanted to see, big guy.” 

Dorian looks up at them and his eyes are glassy as he answers them with a choked voice, “That letter...was from my father.” 

Damen fears the worse, “Is he dead?” 

“If only that were true.” Dorian sighs and then sits up straight and wipes away the water before it can flow freely from his eyes—it smears the khol under them—and he sniffs, “No. My father and I do not  _ speak _ anymore after a...we had a very large and bloody disagreement that ended with me leaving. I have not spoken nor seen him in many years. Not that I’m at a loss for it, but by no means do I wish to see him again.” 

“The letter is asking to meet?” Solas wonders with a frown of distaste on his pale face, “It is hardly easy to go from Ferelden back to the Imperium.”

“He ain’t asking you to come  _ home _ ,” Bull says, “he’s here, ain’t he? He’s asking you to meet him while he’s in the same area.” 

“Yes.” Dorian says and then plays with one of his rings, “Where we—and by that I mean Abelas and I—saved the world from a very  **dark** future.” 

“Dorian,” Damen bites his lip and then takes a deep breath, “if he did what I  _ think _ —something horrible to you with...blood magic—then you  **can’t** meet him. He might  _ finish _ what he started.” 

Dorian scoffed, “I know that! But he wants to mend this burnt bridge he caused. I intend to  _ humor _ him. After we finish our mission.”

***********

Her tutor had a surprise for her. It was a book, that she knew from the shape. He seemed very excited and it was making her excited. He put the book down at her desk—which was really the desk Maraas used to do paperwork but cleaned it so she could learn in a nice quiet space—and chuckled as she ran one finger down the smooth brightly colored paper it was wrapped in. 

“I had a friend once, who went on to become a Mortalitasi, and we never lost contact. When I told my brightest pupil to date was interested in anatomy and the inner workings of the body, he was tickled pink!” Garrett gushed. 

“Really?” 

“Indeed!” Garrett sat down across from her, “So he sent me a copy of a book that all students training to become like him have to have. They jokingly call it The Book of the Dead.” 

Abelas frowned. It sounded so familiar.  _ Eerily  _ so, “Why?” 

“The original book was taken when the Elvhen Empire fell to the Imperium. It was a solid book of silver with runes on it and the pages had been rumored to be made of  _ skin  _ and that they could talk back.” 

Abelas shivered, “Creepy.” 

“The text,” Garrett went on, “was written in Elvhen rune. The Imperium had no way to translate it since most of theirs slaves at that time had been born into it and had no knowledge of their heritage. The images though—hand painted and detailed—helped. It advanced medicine by several hundred years and taught early mages how to embalm their dead.” 

“So…”Abelas looked down, “He sent me a book on how to bury people?” 

Garrett chuckled, “No. He sent a book that will help you learn about the science of the body better. And he also asks, that you use this knowledge in any way you can. For a mind is a terrible thing to waste.” 

Abelas tore off the paper and looked down at the book. It was just like Garrett had said. Solid silver with a rune on it. She  _ knew  _ what this rune meant. Dead. As in, past tense, it has already happened. She opened the book and Garrett leaned in close to look. 

She touched the yellowed paper.  _ It was skin.  _ Garrett felt them as well and huffed. He said something about going to send a letter to his friend. She gulped loudly and sat on her hands. The book slammed itself shut and the rune morphed into an eye. It opened and looked at her. 

She shivered and stood still. She was afraid to move. The eye seemed to squint in happiness at her. 

“Master.” it croaked—from where she had no idea—and then it looked around the room, “I see you have found a suitable new home.” 

She opened her mouth to scream but only a squeak came out, “ _ Ahh~. _ ” 

“I have learned so  _ much _ since your departure. I have so many new and  _ wicked  _ spells to teach you.”  it chuckled, “And so little time. I’m afraid I shall have to teach in an... _ unpleasant _ way. Worry not, it won’t hurt. Much.” 

Abelas didn’t even get to scream before it flew into her open mouth and shoved itself down her throat. It burned the whole way down her throat, her chest and when it hit her stomach, it made white foam push itself up and out of her mouth. She fell out of her chair and felt her whole body twist and bend on the floor. She began to claw at her throat. She couldn’t  _ breath.  _ She was scared. She didn’t want to die. 

She doesn’t remember passing out but she come back to herself with Leliana, Josephine and Garrett hovering over her. She their faces covered in blood and throats open ear to ear. She flipped onto her stomach and threw up. They thought someone had tried to kill and kept her in her room. As she sit in the middle of the bed, curled into herself and crying softly into Mr. Gold, she felt Falon’Din sit down on the edge of the bed. He began to pet her hair. He sighed heavily. 

_ It was horrible, when I first had the book. It showed me everything I wanted to know and I wanted to know how it would all end. It took it in a literal sense and did so me how it would all end. Every way it could end, the worse ways, the gruesome ways. I had not one night of rest because of it. It took me many years to finally snap and turn into something horrible. I don’t want to see you turn into what I was.  _

Abelas sniffled, “How do I make it  _ stop,  _ Falon’Din?” 

_ You have to die. _

*********

Abelas knocked on the door and waited. When Solas opened it, he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. 

“I need you to kill me,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da’lath’in(little heart)  
> Vheraan’bae(papa lion)  
> senatha’mae(mama dragon)  
> Fenorain(darling)


	15. Last Resort of Good men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they say go big or go home, sometimes it feels nice to just go HOME.

Damen and Dorian both looked at the door. Dorian with a slight frown and Damen with side long glances at Dorian. Solas lingers at the bottom of the steps, leaning on one of rocks that lie near them. Bull was sitting on the steps themselves. Damen placed a comforting hand on Dorian's shoulder. Dorian took a deep breath and opened the door, Damen followed behind. Inside it was empty and Dorian faltered in his sure steps, looking around. The door shut behind them with a small squeak. 

“Uh oh, nobody's here.” Dorian said as he turned in a slow circle, moving farther into the inn, “This doesn’t bode well.” 

A man who looked like an older version of Dorian without his beauty mark came down the stairs and called out, “Dorian.” 

Dorian turned to look at the man with a frown on his face, “Father. So the whole story about the family retainer was just what—a smokescreen?” 

Halward Pavus kept his hands in front of him as he moved closer to them, “So then, you were told? I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor,” he said and looked at Damen, “I never intended for you to be involved.” 

“I’m not...I’m not the Inquisitor.” Damen told him softly. 

“Her name is Abelas,” Dorian tells him as he crosses his arm, “and she is a child tucked safely away from the likes of you and our less than  _ noble _ countrymen.” 

“I see.” Halwars said with a stern frown. 

“And why would come to see me without a lie? No, of course not! Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the  _ dread Inquisitor.  _ What would people think? What is this exactly father? Ambush? Kidnapping?  _ A warm family reunion?”  _

“This is how it has always been.” Halward sighed. 

Damen looked at him and after biting his lip he spoke, “You went through all this to get Dorian here. Talk to him.” 

“Yes, father,” Dorian said with a snap and slow tilt of his head, “talk to me. Let me hear of  _ mystified  _ you are by my anger,”

Halward held up one hand, “Dorian, there’s no need to—”

Dorian all but spun on his heel to look at Damen and snapped at him with a sharp clack of his teeth, “I prefer the company of  _ men _ . My father disapproves.” 

“I know. The second I saw you, I knew that.” Damen told him as he wrung his hands together in front of him. 

“Well I am  _ shocked _ and  _ scandalized _ !” Dorian said as he threw his arms up and let them slap back down to his sides before turning to glare once more at his father. 

“I should have known,” Halward snapped, “ _ that _ is what this is about.” 

Dorian moved forward, one finger pointed in anger at his father, “ **No** . You don’t get to make those assumptions. You  _ nothing _ about him. Or the Inquisitor.” 

“This is not what I wanted.” Halward muttered. 

Dorian shook his head with a tired chuckle, his hand falling back down to his side once more, “I’m  _ never _ what you wanted, father. Or had you forgotten?”

“So, like my family, that’s what all this is about.” Damen said with a sigh. He should have know. Dorian turned to look at him, a forlorn look on his face. 

“That’s not all it’s about.” Dorian said distantly.

Halward moved forward to try and grab Dorian by his elbow, “Dorian,  _ please _ . If you’ll only listen to me—” 

Dorian smacked his hands away and took a large step back, “Why? So you can sprout  _ more _ convenient lies?” Halward was silent and Dorian began to pace, his hands and arms moving as he pointed at his father, “ **He** taught me to hate blood magic. “The resort of the weak mind,” those are  **his** words. But what was the first thing you did when your  _ precious  _ heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?” A tense silence hung for a moment and then Dorian's voice cracked, “You tried to  **_change_ ** me.” 

“I only wanted what was best for you.” Halward said softly, reaching out for his son. 

Dorian slapped his hand away again and crowded into his space, hissing through clenched teeth at him, “You wanted the best for you!  _ And your fucking legacy.  _ **Anything** for that.” 

Dorian stumbled to a table and hung his head. Damen went over to him and placed a light hand on his shoulder, “Don’t leave it like this, Dorian. You’ll never forgive yourself.”

Dorian slowly lifted his head, his eyes haunted, and glanced over his shoulder at his father, “Tell me  _ why _ you came.” 

“If I knew,” Halward said with a hint og guilt in his voice, “I would drive you to the Inquisition—”

“You  _ didn’t!”  _ Dorian said and turned to his father, shaking his head, “I joined the Inquisition because it’s the  _ right  _ thing to do. Once...I had a father you would have  **known** that.” Dorian turned to the door and took a few sure steps toward it. 

“Once,” Halward said and Dorian stopped, hand hovering over the handle, “‘I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him—to hear his voice again. To ask him to  _ forgive _ me.” 

*************

The waterfall looked pretty. The fireflies hovered over the pool the waterfall dropped into and the sickle moon looked down at it. The grass under was soft and damp. Solas had had to tell a set of impressive lies to get everyone to let him take her out. A day of rest after her ordeal he had said. She knew he would help her. She knew that he knew. 

Abelas held tightly to her rabbit as Solas mixed everything into a bowl and used his finger to stir it. Cole hovered somewhere behind her, muttering. Solas had explained what he was doing as he did it. He had all the plants next to him. Along with a mortar and pestle to smash them. He was using the water from the pool to make it into a tea. He was smashing them into a thick paste and using the water—after heating it up quickly—to dissolve the paste. 

It was a thick and nasty looking color the more he added to it. It was starting to turn a rusted brown color but it smelled like flowers and grass. Crab’s eye, to make it taste good. Wolfsbane, to shut down her kidneys. Doll’s eyes, to thin her blood. Desert Rose, to help the other poisons work. White snakeroot, belladonna, flamingo flower. Even on of these could kill someone.

But she wasn’t normal anymore. 

They had make sure. It had taken a lot of kill Falon’Din, who knows how much it would take to kill her? Elephant Ear, yellow oleander, water hemlock, lily of the valley. Suicide tree. It smelled wonderful. This would kill someone with just one sip. But would work on her? 

Solas handed her the large cup he had put it all in and she looked down at it. Black as her hair. She looked up at him. 

“Thank you, Solas.” 

He bowed his head as she washed his hands in the pool, “Are you sure?” 

“You said you could destroy the book,” she said as she set her rabbit down to use as a pillow, “and once you do you said you could bring me back.” 

Solas didn’t look at her, “I did. I will do my best to make sure you come back.” 

Cole was by her side then and held her hand as she took a drink. She had to drink all of it. It had no taste. Nothing. Solas took the empty cup and Cole put her head down onto her rabbit. She held his hand tightly. It was scary. 

She had never  _ died  _ before. She closed her eyes. What was it Ashihari had said once? It was like falling asleep. Nothing and then suddenly—all at once with no warning—it happened. Abelas supposed that was true. No one ever remembered falling asleep just waking up.

She took one last deep breath and then...

****************

The trip back to Skyhold was silent. No one knew what to say. For three day, Damen saw not hide nor hair of Dorian. Bull said to give him time. Solas had taken Abelas on a little trip. The poor girl had almost been killed while they had been away. It was early in the morning when Damen found Dorian again. 

He was leaning by the window of the little alcove he had claimed as his own. He was dressed for the day. Damen was still in a night robe and dead eyed. He was pretty sure his hair looked like a nest for birds. And he might still have a trail of spit on his face somewhere. He had his morning cup of tea held in both hands. Dorian must have heard him shuffle up the stairs because when he stopped right behind him he spoke. 

“He says we’re alike. Too much  _ pride _ . Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now I’m not certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him.” 

Damen looked down into his green tea and let the steam and the smell wake him up in the chilly library as he asked, “Do you...do you think blood magic could do that? Really  _ change _ you...that way?” 

“Maybe. It could have also left either of us a drooling  _ vegetable _ . It  **crushed** me to think that he found that absurd risk more  _ preferable _ to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn’t really want to go through with it. If he had...I can’t even  _ imagine _ the person I would be now. I wouldn’t like  _ that _ Dorian.”

“Are you alright?” Damen asked him softly.

“No. Not really. Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn’t what I expected, but...it’s something. Maker  _ knows _ what you must think of me now, after that whole display.” Dorian turned to look at him and smiled sadly. He moved away from the window and looked at Damen. He was not even an arms length away. 

Damen took hold of his courage and blurted out, “I think you’re very brave.”

“Brave?” Dorian asked with a shocked look. 

“It’s not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path.” Damen said and took a sip of his tea, “We know that. Both of us. It’s a hard road and it...it hurts to think that the people who should have accepted and love us no matter what ended up hating us because of...preferences. You know how it feels and I do too. So yes, I think you’re brave. I’ve always thought that.” 

Dorian blushed and coughed into his hand, turning away with a smile Damen couldn’t see, “At any rate—time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that kind of day. Join me sometime, if you’ve a mind.” 

*********************

Falon’Din had taken the throne to sit in and brood as he waited. Elgar’nan was here, along with his conduit, The Champion of Kirkwall. He wanted to be left alone but Elgar’nan didn’t seem to understand his body language. He came to stand next to the throne and look up at the stained glass windows. Abelas had wanted dragons and knights. The mages had taken offense and so it was just dragons. Abelas liked them and that was all that mattered. 

Elgar’nan looked out of them for a long time. Falon’Din was fine with that. He wasn’t in the mood to  _ talk _ . If she died then he would forever wander the Fade. And no one would mourn him. Finally, Elgar’nan chuckled and Falon’Din looked at him. 

“What?” he snapped. 

Elgar’nan looked at him, still chuckling, “It had different windows then these one when I ruled here. Looking at the dragons though, they seem to strike a much more regal picture than the men being spike to death.” 

“I had forgotten,” Falon’Din admitted as he turned in his seat to look at the windows, “that Skyhold had been the heart of your kingdom, once. I recall most of it  _ floated  _ above the mountains, but I had forgotten that this was were you ruled.” 

Elgar’nan nodded his head and went back to looking at the windows, “It was here that I learned that your brother had given up the Emerald Graves and had gone to who knows where. You took it over as I recall.” 

“Dirthamen did give up his seat of power in the Emerald Graves.” Falon’Din sighed and rubbed his head. “I didn’t want Sylaise or Fen’harel to try and take it from him so I held it while he was away.” 

“That is a large land to rule over.” 

“The Oasis in the desert is not so far.” 

Elgar’nan laughed, “Yes. Going through the Hissing Waste  _ and  _ The Western Approach is hardly  _ far  _ to get to the Emerald Graves.” 

“Keep in mind that Andruil ruled the Western Approach and I had to go around her to get back and forth between my brothers kingdom and mine.” 

“The Arbor Wilds must have been avoided too. Mythal and you were fighting at the time, weren’t you?” 

Falon’din sighed, “Yes. We were. And you are right. The Arbor Wilds were a pain to try and keep back since Mythal had a bone to pick. 

“You deserved it.” Elgar’nan said with a smirk. 

“Sylaise should have picked a fight with someone else.” Falon’Din hissed, “She should have know I would have come to my brother aid no matter what.” 

Elgar’nan raised an eyebrow at him, “So burn down the Kokari Wilds, salt the earth, and curse the trees? That is your idea of an  _ appropriate  _ response to her attack—which failed by the way—to defend your little brother?”

“If June had not taken what is now Orzammar as his kingdom, he might have been able to send help in time to his wife.” Falon’Din said with a cruel smirk. 

Elgar’nan rolled his eyes, “Now I know why Ghilan’nain took Par Ladi as her kingdom. No one would have bothered going that far to gain land.” 

They were silent for a moment before Falon’Din said, “Fen’harel would have.” 

“I banished him,” Elgar’nan said with a scowl, “to the Sunless Wilds. He would have been too weak to take her lands.”

“He could have still tried.” 

Elgar’nan placed a hand on his shoulder, “I know you are worried. I’m worried as well.But she will be fine. That little girl is too stubborn to die.” 

“Thank you.” Falon’Din said and covered his hand over Elgar'nan's. Then he looked at him, “Why are you worried?” 

“She’s going to have a baby.” Elgar’nan said, “My soul is going to be reborn soon. I will...forget...everything. To be honest…” 

Falon’Din urged him, “To be honest?” 

“I am afraid. I don’t remember being born. I wonder if it will hurt?” 

Falon’Din had no answer. So he gave none.  

*******************

She woke up with a gasp and couldn’t catch her breath. She turned over to her side, coughing. Cole rubbed her back. She could see through blurry eyes that Solas was burning the book. It was screaming as the veil fire ate it. She moved until she was sitting and Cole handed her Mr. Gold. She hugged him tightly.

Solas brought her some water. She drank it deeply. Her mouth still tasted like the mixture. She spat it out and Solas got her more water. She took deep breathes and let them out slowly. Cole watched them. It had been...there had been…

“Abelas?” Solas asked, “Are you alright?” 

“I wanna go home.”

“Of course. You must be...exhausted.” 

Abelas looked at him and she felt the tears make their way down her face, “I’m home sick. I’m not tired. I wanna go home.” 

“Scared and tired. I was dead, I died. Die, died, will die. Falon’Din says those words. He died. But not really. I was dead, dead dead—I want to go home now.” Cole said rapidly. 

Solas packed away the thing he had brought and picked her up, rubbing her back as she sobbed into his neck, “We will go home.” 

******************

Yelling in the library. Solas must have come back with Abelas. Damen pushed open the second door to the library and found the rotunda empty. The deco-art still undone, and the candles dead. But he he could still hear stern voices. He looked up and saw Dorian. He climbed the stone steps slowly as he listened to the voices. A woman and Dorian. 

Fiona? No, she had been in the courtyard with Jim, speaking about the mage tower. He got to the top and just stared. Mother Giselle looked away from Dorian a moment and she shook her head in shock. Mother Giselle gave him a startled look, “Oh, I…” 

“What’s going on here?” Damen asked as he looked between her and Dorian. Dorian looking a mix of angry and bored while Mother Giselle looked guilty. 

Dorian rolled his eyes and leaned back on the railing with his arms crossed and one ankle over the other, “It seems the revered mother is concerned about my  _ “undue influence”  _ over you.” 

“It  _ is  _ just a concern. You must know how this looks.” Mother Giselle said with a blush high on her cheeks and her eyes looking at a spot on his cheek. Damen liked to pull that trick when had to speak to people. 

Dorian scoffed, “You might need to spell it out, my dear.”

“This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone…” she trailed off. She had forgotten then, that Damen was from Tevinter too. He could see it in her face that she had just remembered it. 

Damen smiled at her kindly and asked sweetly, “What is wrong with him being from Tevinter?  _ Specifically _ ?”

“I’m fully aware that not everyone from the Imperium is the same.” she muttered. Or as much as a holy mother could mutter. 

Dorian looked at his nails and began to pick them clean, “How kind of you to notice. Yet still you bow to the opinion of the masses?”

“The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence. What would you have me tell them?” she asked him with a look of an irritated mother. 

“The truth?” he said with a flick of his wrist.

She gave him a look and then shook her head, “The truth is I do not  _ know _ you, and neither do they. Thus these rumors will continue.”

“There’s no cause for concern, your reverence.” Dame tried to assure her. 

She looked at him and folded her arms, “With all due respect, you underestimate the effect  _ this _ man has on the people’s good opinion.”

“Do the people know how he’s helped the Inquisition?” Damen snapped at her. Angry at how she was trying to paint Dorian as a villain when he had a heart of gold. He was a good and kind man. He even let Abelas play with his hair, sat down at her little tea parties, and spoke to Maraas with more respect than he had to. He even drank with Orta and helped get her back to her room when she had drank too much. He didn’t  _ deserve _ this. 

Mother Giselle unfolded her arms and bowed her head, “I...see. I meant no disrespect, only to ask after this man intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motives, then I humbly beg forgiveness from the both of you.”

She left after that and Dorian looked at Damen. 

“Well that’s something.” he said with a sigh and moved away from the railing. 

Damen looked at him with a frown, “This sort of thing happens often, does it?”

“More than anyone tells you. No one knows their own reputation.” Dorian chuckled. 

“Until someone helpfully informs them.” Dame muttered sarcastically. 

Dorian smiled at him, “There is that. She meant well, if that’s of any concern. I don’t know if you’re aware, but that assumption in some corners is that you and I are... _ intimate _ .”

“That’s not the worst assumption they could have, is it?” Damen asked with a blush. 

Dorian titled his head with a flirty smirk, “I don’t know, is it?”

“Do you always answer a question with a question?” Damen snapped with a huff. He was still blushing at this man and his pretty face. 

“Would you like me to answer in some other fashion?”

Damen rolled his eyes and folded his arms, turning his head away, “If you’re capable.”

Dorian grabbed his chin and pulled him into a deep kiss. Dorian set on hand on his hip while the other holding his chin moved to cup his face. Damen felt his heart skip a beat. Dorian pulled away with a satisfied smile and licked his lips. Damen was still in shock. He was pretty sure he looked like a fish. Dorian went back to leaning on the railing. 

“Damen, “if you’re capable.” The nonsense you speak.” Dorian said with a chuckle. 

Damen stammered a few times and then took a deep breath before pointing a finger at Dorian, “You realize this makes the rumors  _ somewhat _ true?”

“Evidently. We might have to  **explore** the full truth of them later. In  **_private_ ** .” Dorian said with a lecherous smirk that sent Damen blushing and walking back down the stairs. 

*****************

Fenris liked to rub her belly as he read. Sometimes he would just leave his hand over her belly button all night. She could feel the lyrium in him running around. One of the babies like to hover near his hand. She was going to have twins. She knew it. And one of them was going to be a mage. 

Right now, he had his head on her stomach, speaking Tevine and smiling. It was late and she couldn’t sleep. The babies were moving too much. Fenris had decided to listen to them move and talk. He had said maybe he could make them stop with a story. His hands were on her lower back, rubbing small circles into the bone. She was getting sleepy. 

He was so warm. Finally he chuckled and she looked down. 

“What’s has you laughing, love?” she asked with a yawn. 

He looked up at her, his eyes warm, “Your children are like you. They move when they sleep. I wonder if they’ll snore?” 

“I don’t  _ snore  _ but I will give you that I move.” 

“Yes, my  _ backside _ meeting the floor at night knows that well.” He chuckled and put his ear back to her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair and over his ears. 

She admitted to him, “I hope they have your ears.” 

“I hope they have your smile.” 

“I want them to have your chuckle.” she said with a sleepy smile. 

“You nose.” 

She sighed, “Your eyes.” 

“Your kind heart.” 

“Your courage.” she whispered as he eyes closed. 

He looked at her and gave her a kiss, “I hope they take after you in all things.” 


	16. Demands of the Qun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does it feel to choose?

“Ah! Come on, Krem! I’m working my ass off trying to get you to see that move!” 

“You still got plenty of ass left, Chief! Uhh...Lady Adaar.” 

Maraas was dressed in simple blue cloth and hard leather pants. She had never stopped wearing “traditional” Qunari clothing and so the cloth was a cloth. She wondered if Bull noticed her braided arm bands. She wondered if he would make a snide comment and ask you she was committed too. A part of her wanted him to ask about the bands. She wanted to tell him Cullen and laugh at his face. Qunari were too  _ big  _ for their human mates and it made sex...not difficult but not really easy either.

She wanted him to ask and tell him and be proud of it. But it wasn’t true. Cullen cared for Abelas like she was his own begotten child of blood that he dotted on. And yes it was true he had called her their child—when she had been so low and so angry at the thought of Abelas dead—he had called her theirs. She often wondered, when she let her mind go, what their child would look like. Grey skin? Pale like him? 

Red hair like her or golden like his? Her grey eyes or his whiskey colored ones? Tall like her or stocky like him? A mix of both? Horns? It was a nice daydream but...she knew better than that. She nodded her head at Bull as he wiped the sweat from his brow. 

“Glad you came by. I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red.” he huffed. 

Maraas looked up at the tower where she knew Leliana was since the ravens hovered by their nest there often, “Do you want to discuss this alone?” 

“Not like I was hiding it from my boys. Besides, right now, I need to hit something.” Bull growled out and then look at Krem. 

Krem gave him a scowl, “You know they got training dummies, Chief.”

“The training dummy might actually defend itself against the shield bash.” he snapped and then shook his head with a huff, “Anyway, the Ben-Hassrath letter…” 

Maraas saw Abelas chase Cole down the steps leading to the barn and she hoped her child was not bringing anything  _ else  _ back to life in that barn or otherwise, “What did the letter say?” 

“The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori. And they  _ really  _ don’t like red lyrium.” 

Maraas shot him a look, “I was under the impression you were just sending  _ reports _ .” 

“Yeah. So was I.” he sighed. 

Maraas, narrowed her eyes at him and folded her arms “I was willing to let you send reports. But if our country men are making  _ demands _ —” 

“Just hear it out, boss. They’re ready to work with us. With you, boss. The Qunari and the Inquisition, joining forces.” Bull pleaded with her. 

Maraas turned her head away along with her body, her face pulled down into a frown, “That would be an unprecedented offer. If I believed it was  _ legitimate _ . Which I don’t.” 

“Now normally that would be the way to go. But they’ve identified themselves to you. They’re not running a game.” Bull tried once more to plead and Krem rubbed at his shoulder, placing the shield down at his feet. 

Maraas looked at Cullen's tower and felt a pang in her heart. She missed him dearly and hoped he would come back soon, “That could be a powerful alliance.” 

“Our people have never made a full blown alliance with a foreign power before. This would be a big step.” Bull said as a way of agreement. Krem picked his shield back up. 

Maraas sighed and looked at him, arms still crossed but face neutral once more, “So?” 

“They found a massive red lyrium shipping operation out on the coast.” 

Kre, got ready as Bull huffed and lifted his massive shield to hit him, “They wanted us to hit it together. Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts. Always wanted to see one of those big war ships in action.” 

Bull sent him flying. 

“Did you see  _ that?  _ Go get some water.” As Krem went off muttering, Bull threw down his shield and looked at her, “They’re worried about tipping the smugglers, so no army. My Chargers, you, and maybe some backup.” 

“What does this “alliance” really get us?” she asked him skeptically. 

“They wouldn’t use the word alliance if they didn’t mean it. Naval power more Ben-Hassrath reports. Qunari soldiers pointed at the Venatori. It could do a lot of good.” 

“You don’t seem entirely happy about it.” she noted. 

“No, I’m good. It’s uh...I’m used to them being... _ over there,  _ it’s been awhile.” 

She frowned. She didn’t like it but...Abelas need to be protected from all sides. Even from her own people. She sighed and let her arms fall to her sides, “I suppose...we could use some help from our countrymen.”

“Good. I’ll pass on word to Jim—since Cullen is still busy—and Red. We can set up the meeting whenever you’re ready.” Bull said with a look on her face she had seen on her own often before she had left. She would know that look like the back of her hand. She had seen in in mirror too often for her not to know it .

Doubt. 

He was beginning to  _ doubt _ . 

**************

Cullen had stopped in every village they had come across on the way to the Mire. He had spread the word of the Inquisition and had offered his help. Each village had taken it. The help of a Knight Templar and his men? Why wouldn’t they accept his help. Each village proudly wore the banner of the Inquisition and many a young man and woman had packed up and gone on their way back to Skyhold. Cullen wondered if Jim would throw his hands up in the air at all the new eager faces he had sent. 

He hoped so. If the new recruits didn’t do it then Abelas would. She so badly wanted to learn how to use a sword. She was too tiny for a sword. Maybe when she was older and taller, he would let her. As they walked their horses down the dirt road, one of the Dalish women stopped and looked into the woods. O'shaunessy stopped and looked as well. Cullen looked and saw trees and a few nugs hopping along their path. 

He looked at the Dalish woman—her clan name was October—and jerked his head into the woods, “What do you hear?”

She made the motion of crying and then held a finger to her lips. Her purple eyes narrowed and she made her horse stop near a tree and tied off the reins. Both men did the same and she drew her short sword. Always better to be cautious. They did the same. As they walked slowly toward the crying, it grew louder. A child. 

Cullen looked behind them. The sun was almost down on the open road but the woods had long ago grown dark. They found her sitting by a willow tree, sobbing into her knees. Cullen got down on one knee and called out to her. She gasped and backed away. He put away his sword and held out his hand. 

“Are you lost?” 

“I-I want my mommy!” the girl sobbed out and Cullen nodded. 

“I know. It’s scary in the woods when it gets dark. Where do you live?” 

She wiped her runny nose, “In a cottage. But I got lost chasing a niug. He was fat.” 

“A fat nug?” O’shaunessy laughed, “All nugs are fat.” 

October made six fingers at Cullen and he asked her, “My friend would like to know how old you are? She says you look about six.” 

“I’m eight.” the girl said with an offended look. 

“Would like us to help you home?” Cullen asked her softly. 

“Yes.” she whimpered and Cullen helped her to her feet. He picked a leaf out of her curly hair and took her hand, “Are you a knight?” 

“I was. Not anymore.” 

She smiled up at him as they made their way through the woods, “My name is Shanice.” 

“Cullen Rutherford. This is Hughbert O’shaunessy and the woman is Antauri October. We are part of the Inquisition.”

Shanice looked ahead of them, “Are you married?” 

He thought of Maraas and Abelas. He smiled, “In a fashion. I have a little girl a little younger than you.

“My mom and dad too.” Shanice chirped, “My big brother and my mom ran away from their home and then she met dad. Dad loved her at first sight and he wanted to marry her but he couldn’t ‘cause the holy mother was mean butt and said no.” 

O’shaunessy laughs and October smiles at the girl. Even Cullen chuckles at that, “Is your mother an elf then?” 

“She’s a Qunari.” Shanice says with pride, “She thought I was going to look like my big brother—hornless—but when I was born she said she couldn’t stop laughing.” 

Cullen remembers his dream and feel a shiver run down his spine. Before he can ask anything they hear voices in front of them—frantic and loud—calling for the girl. The mother almost kills them but the man stops her. Shanice goes on and on about the brave knights who came to her rescue and they are invited to eat dinner. As they eat the woman keeps looking at his wrist with a look he can’t place. As the children are sent to bed, the adults speak. It is when Cullen offers to help her clean that she asks him about his wrist. 

“You’re lady gave you that?” 

He looks down at the woven bracelet in red and black that he had hoped his cloak and gloves would hide. He clears his throat, “Yes.”  

The woman smiled, “I gave him one too. I told him they do not marry under the Qun. It is seen as...un-needed. So we make those to show we have someone we love above all others.” 

“So,” Cullen blushes, “it is like a wedding band?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” 

The woman gives it a quick tug with her nails and laughs, “Strong. You have a baby with her? Shanice said you did.” 

“I...have a daughter.” 

“Not with her?” 

“No.” 

The woman shrugs, “My son is not my mates but he acts like he is. He is. He taught my son to speak and write and helped me keep him clean. He made sure we ate. The man who gave me my son is gone and I am glad for it. The man who is his father is the one I chose. My first choice after...after.” 

Cullen looks down at the soapy water, “She is not mine by blood either. She is— _ was _ —an orphan. I don’t know why...I don’t know why I call her my daughter.” 

“Love.” the woman says as though it was so easy. 

Maybe it was. 

*************

Fenris doesn’t mean to smirk. He  _ doesn’t _ . But Hawke has to struggle into her pants. He has often told her to wear the dress but she shakes her head and says it makes her look fat. He would tell her he would love her fat or skinny. She would throw pillows at him in response. She was lying on the bed, trying to hike the pants past her hips and it was failing.

He put his book down and just watched her. She finally gave up and tried to catch her breath. She lifted up one arm and pointed at him, “Not  _ one  _ word, Fenris.” 

“I didn’t say anything, amatus.” 

She pushed herself up to glare at him, “Your  _ smirk  _ is saying enough.” 

He chuckles and stands, “Am I not allowed to smirk at my wife?” 

She pouted, “No. You are suppose to help me.” 

“With you pants?” he chuckled and pulled her to her feet. She wrapped her arms around him and put her head on his shoulders. She traced a pattern into his chest and he kissed her head. 

“I’m fat.” 

“You are with child. My child.” 

“Children. Twins.” 

“Child. One.” 

“Pregnant. I know how many are in there.” 

He kissed her on the nose, “Liar. One.”

She kissed him on the lips, “Two.”

He made the kiss deeper, “One.” 

She chuckled as he put her back on the bed and moved between her legs, “You already knocked me, Fenris.” 

“Maybe I want to keep you like this.” he growled out as he nipped at her ear, “Make sure everyone knows I belong to you and you belong to me.” 

She moaned as he ground down, “Possessive much, love?” 

“I was a  _ slave _ ,” he snarled and yanked down her pants before licking her to her core, making her gasp, “I don’t like the idea of  _ sharing _ .” 

If Hawke was late meeting Leliana for tea, she made no comment on it. Or on the hickey on her neck and the high blush on her cheeks. Fenris walked around with a smile all day. She wanted to smack him for that. And the fact that she couldn’t wear  _ pants  _ anymore. Maker she missed pants. She really missed pants. 

************

“Once more. My name is Abelas Lavellan and I am six years old.” 

Abelas pouted. Orleasian was hard, “Je m'appelle Abelas Lavellan et j'ai six ans.” 

Garrett smiled, “Better. Remember to roll your r’s though.” 

“We don’t roll ‘r’ in Elvhen.” Abelas told him once more. 

“But they do in Val Royeaux.” he said with a smirk, “Let’s see...what next?” 

“I’m bored.”

“Ah!” Garrett said with a smile, “Dans Orlesian s'il vous plaît.” 

Abelas scowled at him, “Je m'ennuie.” 

“Wonderful.” Garrett chuckled and clapped his hands, “You are much better at speaking now than when we met.” 

“Thank you?” 

“I mean no disrespect. Simply an observation.” 

Abelas grabbed a grape and held it up to him, “Grain de raisin?” 

“Very good.” He picked up his cane and pointed at the metal animal on the top of it, “What animal is this?” 

She looked. A peacock! She thought for a moment and then licked her lips, “Paon?” 

“Wonderful.” Garrett chuckled. 

The door to the room opened and Maraas came in. Garrett stood and bowed to her. Maraas nodded her head and looked at Abelas, “Guess where we’re going.” 

“Uhh...to dinner?” 

Maraas chuckled, “No. The Storm Coast.” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

Abelas turns up her nose and brings her rabbit close to her, “Je me suis presque noyé la dernière fois que nous sommes allés.” 

Maraas looks at Garrett who is smiling and he translates, “She said she almost drowned the last time you were there.” 

“We won’t be near the water.” 

“Non. Il est humide et froid et l'eau est trop élevée. Et si grandit si grand, il se passe au-delà du rivage?” 

Garrett is a smiling fool, “I am impressed, Abelas. She said, “No. It's wet and cold and the water is too high. What if grows so large it comes up past the shore?” Impressive vocabulary.” 

“Abelas,” Maraas sighs, “please. I promise. Nothing will happen to you.” 

She looks at Maraas, “Who all is going?” 

“Me. Bull. Damen and Dorian.” 

“Dorian doesn’t like the ocean.” Abelas sniffs. 

“He was stuck on a ship for a long time,” Maraas tells her, “the motion of the water is what he doesn’t like. He liked water fine.” 

Abelas pouts, “Fine.” 

“Thank you. Finish your lessons.” 

Abelas stuck out her tongue at her. 

Garrett laughed warmly. 

*******************

The Storm Coast was still wet and cold. And Abelas clung to Bull’s broad back and kept shooting the water dirty looks. Dorian was trying not the dry heave each time he saw the ocean. As they walked up a steep hill past one of their camps, Bull handed Abelas back to Maraas. She put Abelas down on the ground and folded her arms. Abelas clung to Dorian at his legs and he gave her a pat on the head. 

Bull looked around, rolling his shoulders. Abelas pulled her hood tighter over her head, “All right. Our Qunari contact should be here to meet us.” 

A voice called from behind the tree by the small bonfire a few feet from them, “He is. Good to see you again, Hissrad.” 

An elf with a smug smirk. Bull spread his arms open and his face was bright with recognition. “Gatt! Last I heard you were still in Seheron.” 

“They finally decided I’d calm down enough to go back out into the world.” Gatt said with a chuckle and then looked at the rest of them. 

“Maraas, this is Gatt. We worked together back in Seheron. And this little lady, is the Herald herself.” Bull said as he pointed at Abelas. Abelas looked at Gatt and nodded her head at him. Gatt got down on one knee and took her hand, giving it a kiss, before coming to stand back in his spot by the bonfire. 

His voice didn’t sound enthused even though his words should have been said with such a tone of voice, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Herald. Hissrad’s reports said you’ve been doing good work.” 

Damen looked at Bull, “Iron Bull’s name is Hissard?” 

“Under the Qun we get titles, not  _ names _ .” Gatt informed him. 

“My title was Hissrad because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it to mean “Keeper of Illusions” or—” Bull was cut off by Maraas. 

Maraas gave him a sidelong glance, “It means  **liar** .” 

“Well you don’t have to say it like  _ that.”  _ Bull huffed.  __

Damen held out his hand to Gatt, “I look forward to working together.” 

“Hopefully, this will help both our people. Tevinter is dangerous enough without the influence of this Venatori cult.” Gatt said but did not shake Damens hand. 

Maraas scoffed and turned to fully look at Bull, “I’m so glad he has such  _ nice  _ things to say about us in their secret spy reports.” 

“He does. But they aren’t  _ secret  _ are they?” Gatt said with a wasp like grin. 

“Look, Gatt—” Bull tried to explain. Gatt held up his hand. 

“Relax. Unlike our superiors I know how it works out here. We’re in this together.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes and ran his finger along the oil coated hood of Abelas, his tone just as wasp like as Gatts’ grin had been, “Yes. Filthy, decadent brutes, the lot of them. I’m certain life would be much better for us all under the Qun.” 

“It was for me; after the Qunari saved me from slavery in Tevinter. I was  _ eight _ . The Qun isn’t perfect, but it gave me a better life.” Gatt snapped. 

Dorian chuckled, “Yes. One free from all that pointless  _ free will and independent thought.  _ Such an improvement.”

Abelas looked up at him as she clung to his leg, “I think the Qun and the Imperium both have their problems.” 

Dorian sighed, “Fair enough, I suppose.” 

Damen nibbled at his lower lip before turning to Dorian, “For all Tevinters problems, at least they acknowledge that people are people.” 

Gatt gave them a deadpan stare, “Unless their  _ slaves _ .” 

“Gatt, is this really the time?” Bull snapped. 

Maraas grit her teeth and looked over her shoulder at Damen and Dorian, “I would take the discipline of the Qunari over the corruption of the Imperium any day of the week.” 

Dorian gave her look of resignation, “Let’s hope you  _ never  _ have to make that choice.” 

Abelas stomped her foot, “Arguing over your corpse strewn past between your two countries isn’t going to help anyone right now in this corpse strewn present.” 

Gatt nodded his head, “I’m not here to convert anyone. All I care about is stopping this red lyrium from reaching Minrathous.” 

“With this stuff, the ‘Vints could turn their slaves into an army of magical freaks. We could lose Seheron and see a giant Tevinter army coming marching back down here.” Bull said and looked out at the water. 

“The Ben-Hassrath agree. That’s why we’re here. Our dreadnoughts is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on the shore. We’ll need to eliminate the Venatori on shore, signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler's ship.” 

Maraas shook her head and looked at Bull, “What do you think, Bull?” 

“Hmm, I dunno know. I’ve never liked covering a dreadnoughts run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. If our scouts underestimate the numbers, we’re dead. If we can’t lock down the Venatori mages, the dreadnought is dead. It’s risky.” 

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?” Gatt snapped. 

Maraas sighed, “Let’s go then and seal our half of this deal.” 

“My agents have marked two possible locations the Venatori may be camped at to guard the shore. We’ll need to split up and hit both at once.” 

“I’ll come with you, boss. Krem can lead the Chargers. Let me fill him in. Come and get me when you’re ready.” 

Maraas picked Abelas up as she made her way back down the hill, “I need to leave Abelas at our camp. When I get back we move.”  

********

Cullen knew it was silly. But as he braced the parchment on his knee he wanted to. He looked over and the others across the fire. Asleep. He tapped his foot. He wanted to write them a letter. Not a field report. A letter about what had happened. He decided to just write and see what he had down. So he did. He used the front and the back of the paper and two more pages after that. When his fingers were ink stained he looked at the words and read them in his head. 

_ There's something that I can't quite explain. I'm so in love with you and I’m afraid that you'll never take that away from me. Either of you. And if I've said it a hundred times before then I fear you should expect a thousand more of those same words to come out of my mouth. Well expect me to be calling you to see if you're OK when I'm not around. I worry when I am not there for the both of you. I know you can take care of Abelas and yourself but I still worry. _

_ I lie awake at night with that worry. And I find myself asking "if you love me" to the dark room of my tower. I love the way you make it sound when you tell Abelas you love her. I wonder if it would sound the same if said it to me? Do I try too hard to make you smile? I will keep calling you to see if you're sleeping, are you dreaming and if you're dreaming, are you dreaming of me? _

_ I can't believe you actually picked me. _

_ I thought that the world had lost its sway when you called her ours and not yours. It's so hard sometimes with...with what I’m going through and then I fell in love with you everytime I see you again and I forget how hard it is. Then Abelas came and I have to remind myself that it's not so difficult. The  _ **_world_ ** _ is not so difficult. You have a bad habit. Maraas, of taking away the old and showing me the new. And I feel like I can fly when I stand next to you. So while I'm on writing this—a hundred miles from home—I'll take the words you gave me and send them back to you. I love you. _

_ I only want to see if you're OK when I'm not around and I want to ask "if you love me.” I love the way you make it sound.  _

_ Do I try too hard to make you smile? _

He tossed the pages into the fire and got into his bed roll.

********

Orta was walking down into the tavern when Sera poked her head out of her room and gave a low whistle to get her attention. When Orta looked at her, Sera used her hand to draw her closer. Orta went and once the door was shut, Sera gave a giggle and stomped her feet. Orta raised an eyebrow. How Sera had so much energy after being out in the desert she had no idea. Sera rounded on her, with a huge grin on her face. 

“Hey you! Have you got time? Not a question, let’s go!” Sera grabbed her hand tightly, “I’ve got something I want to do for you. Just come, you won’t near your gear and stuff.”

Orta chuckled as Sera pulled her, “With you, I’ll do anything.”

“I bet yeah. Come on, let’s do it.” 

Orta had been thinking of something very different than sitting out on the roof by Seras window and eating cookies. She had been thinking of something a little bit wetter and that worked up a sweat. And a lot moaning. This was nice, but not what she had in mind. As she ate her cookie she spoke, “We’re eating. On a roof.”

“They’re horrible, right?” Sera chuckled, “And raisins? UGH! I frigging still hate cookies.”

Orta had been picking her raisins out, “No, it’s just that this all a little confusing.”

“I got caught stealing, once, when I was little. Yeah?” Sera said and looked down at the cookie in her hand, “You get alienage or worse for that, but the “Lady Emmald” took me in. She was sick and couldn’t have children. I had no parents. So it worked out.” 

_ Like Abelas,  _ Orta can’t help but think. 

Sera looks at her then, “Anyway, she gets a year sicker, and I ask her about her cookies. Because moms make cookies. I can pass that down, or something. Turns out, she couldn’t cook. She missed that talk with  _ her  _ mum. The ones she “made” she bought and pretended. Aw, right? Well, no. She was a bitch.”

“Wow.” Orta said and took a bite of her own cookie. 

“She hid buying them by keeping me away from the baker. She did  _ that  _ by lying that he didn’t like me—didn’t like  _ elves.  _ She let me hate so she could protect her pride. I hated him so much, and I hated…”

Orta covered Seras hands with one of her own. Sera had smashed her cookie into crumbs and they had fallen to the dirt below. The ravens were picking at them, “Breath..” 

“Well,” Sera sniffed and used her arm to wipe under her nose, “she died, and I hate pride. “Pride cookie.” But this is great.  _ You’re  _ great. So I thought...maybe me and you could make some—I don’t know... “us cookies?” Because then I would like them again. Ugh,  _ stupid.”  _

Orta smiled at her, “You know what? That would be great,” 

“See I knew—wait…” Sera snapped her head to look at her, eyes wide, “really? Because it seemed frigging daft every step to me. Pissballs! I could have made a whole dirty thing about your biscuit! Or muffin! Muffins on the...on the roof. Because tits?”

Orta snorted out of her nose and doubled over into a laugh that almost sent her off the roof, “Sera this is, silly—wonderful—fun. Just like you.”

“That’s good right? Because the roof was a really bad idea. Can’t do it on the roof.” 

Orta gave Sera a kiss on the cheek and whispered into her skin, “Then let’s get off this roof and have fun somewhere else.” 

Sera gave a dirty giggle, “Ha! “Get off.” You better start running.” 

Orta took a dive from the roof and Sera gave a whoop before chasing after her. 

********

Bull pulled his maul free from the caved in chest of a Venatori and wiped his face off, “We’re clear, Gatt.” 

“Right. Signaling the dreadnought.” Gatt said as he threw something in the fire. It went up with a loud whistle and exploded in the rainy sky above. 

Bull walked to the edge and saw another one go up after theirs, “Chargers already sent theirs up. Seem ‘em down there?” 

“I knew you gave them the easier job.” 

“There’s the dreadnought. That brings back memories.” 

Damen saw it and thought it looked like a monster. Then he saw them moving on the shore. He grabbed Bull by the elbow, making sure not to touch the toxic paint on him. He pointed and Bull growled. They outnumbered the Chargers. He tugged on Bull until Bull looked at him and he wiped the rainwater away from his eyes, “They still have time to fall back if you signal them  _ now.”  _

“Yeah.” Bull muttered. 

Maraas could touch the toxic paint and spun him around to face her. Her blue paint was blazing while his black paint was somber. She snarled at him, “The Chargers can’t stand against that kind of force.” 

“No, they can’t.” Bull admitted and looked away

Gatt came to stand in front of Bull and pointed at the Chargers, “Your men need to hold that position, Bull.”

“They do that, they’re  _ dead _ .” Bull snapped at him

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it, and the dreadnought is dead. You’d be throwing away an  _ alliance _ between the Inquisition and the Qunari. You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth! With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already! I stood up for you, Hissrad! I told them you would  _ never  _ become Tal-Vashoth.” Gatt yelled at him as a strike of lightning exploded across the sky, chased by the thunder. 

Bull glared down at him, “They’re  **my** men,”

“I know. But you need to do what’s right for the alliance, Hissard. And the Qun,” Gatt said almost too softly. The wind almost stole his words. Almost. 

Damen moved in front of Gatt and looked up at Bull, eyes pleading, “Call the retreat.” 

And Bull did. Loud and clear it rang. 

Gatt paced like a wild thing and fumed, “All these  **years** , Hissrad and you throw it away for this? For  _ them?”  _

Damen slapped him across the face, “His name is Iron Bull.” 

“I suppose it is.” Gatt said as he held his cheek. 

None of them took note of Abelas moving toward them. She took Dorian by the hand and looked at the dreadnought. Dorian got down to whisper in her ear what had happened. She looked up at him in fear for a moment. Bull watched the water. His face was blank. Abelas moved to stand next to him and Maraas. 

Bull sighed, “No way they’ll get out of range. Won’t be long now.” 

Abelas licked her lips, “Bull, when it sinks—”

“Sinks?” he asked her. 

Maraas looked down at her, “Qunari dreadnoughts  _ don’t _ sink.” 

_ Use your magic, Abelas. Command the ocean to do as you wish.  _

Abelas bit her lip as the spells went hurtling toward the larger ship,  _ I don’t know how.  _

_ Feel it.  _

She frowned and held up her hand, “But smuggling ships  _ do.”  _

And she raised the ocean beneath the other ship high and then let the water engulf it. They watched as the sea torn it apart and then turn red, glowing in the dim gloom of the Storm Coast. It exploded just as the dreadnought did. They had held up their end of the deal. 

********

Blackwall had taken to wandering the halls at night. Too much in his head to let him sleep. He knew he should stop and try to sleep. But he couldn’t. Not after what he had seen too many nights in a row. Shadows in Elvhen armor walking around and singing songs that sent his blood to ice and his bowels to water. He had tried to follow them but they had turned to look at him each time. Eyes like white ice on clear water. 

He had gotten the hint and had tried to be sneakier. It hadn’t helped. Cole had offered to help him and he wanted to  _ know  _ so he had said yes. The Shadows would gather in one room, swaying on their feet, arms held high, and singing. And each song was worst than the last. But he heard them so many times he had caught himself humming them to himself as he carved out the wooden horse he was making Abelas. Like now.

He was muttering the song under his breath as he wiped the wood shavings down to the dirt, “ _ Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row. _ ”

Josephine called out from the barn door, “That is a lovely song. Who taught it to you?” 

‘M’lady!” he yelped and dropped his tools, bowing as she came closer. Her perfume was sweet to his nose, “I...uhh...I must have heard it while on the road.” 

A lie. But how could he tell her that the ghost of long since dead elves had been singing in one of the unused rooms behind the gazebo? Josephine smiles at him. 

“What is the rhyme about?” 

“I’m...I’m sorry?” 

Josephine looks at the wooden horse, still mostly in wood, and touches it with her gentle hand, “The rhyme. It sounds like a nursery rhyme. But all of them have a deeper meaning.” 

“I could not tell you, m’lady. The nursery rhymes I heard as a boy would be..begging your pardon, but they aren’t fit for a lady.” 

Josephine turned her head to look at him, eyebrow raised, “Really?” 

“I...yes?” 

She smiled at him—crossed her arms as she turned to face him—and leant on the table, “ _ Don't you ever laugh as the hearse goes by, for you may be the next one to die. They wrap you up in big white sheets and cover you from head to feet. They put you in a big black box and cover you with dirt and rocks. All goes well for about a week, until your coffin begins to leak. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout. They eat your eyes, they eat your nose, they eat the jelly between your toes. A big green worm with rolling eyes crawls in your stomach and out your sides. Your stomach turns a slimy green, and pus pours out like whipping cream. You'll spread it on a slice of bread, and that's what you eat when you are dead. _ ”

Blackwall laughs so loudly it makes the barn cat hiss at him. He shakes his head and looks at her, “Fair enough, m’lady.” 

“So?” 

“I will confess. I have no idea what it means. I only heard it while I was...staying in a village some years ago,” 

“A whorehouse.” 

“What?” he says in shock. 

She smirks at him, “I am old enough to know why you paused. It was a whorehouse and someone there liked to sing it. Shame, it is such a lovely song.” 

“Do you know any songs?” 

“Several.” 

He shakes his head and says again, “I mean, do you know any children's songs? Song like the one I sung?”   

Josephine laughed, “Was the one I just sung not good enough?” 

“It was amazing.” 

“ _ Goosey goosey gander, whither shall I wander? Upstairs and downstairs and in my lady's chamber. There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers, so I took him by his left leg and threw him down the stairs. _ ” her voice carried the tune high and sweet. Blackwall was awe struck. She blushed and uncrossed her arms, holding herself instead.

“You have the voice of an angel.” he told her. 

She looked away, still blushing, “I believe it is your turn, Warden Blackwall. What song do you know that was so unfit for a lady?” 

“It has a lady in it.” he mutters.

“Many often do.” 

Blackwall sighed and bent down to pick up his tools from near her feet. He cleared his throat and held his tools tightly as he sung, “ _ Orlaise Bridge  is broken down, broken down, broken down. Orlaise Bridge  is broken down, My fair lady. Build it up with wood and clay, wood and clay, wood and clay; build it up with wood and clay, My fair lady. Wood and clay will wash away, wash away, wash away, wood and clay will wash away, My fair lady. Build it up with bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar, build it up with bricks and mortar, My fair lady. Bricks and mortar will not stay, will not stay, will not stay, bricks and mortar will not stay, My fair lady. Build it up with iron and steel, iron and steel, iron and steel, build it up with iron and steel, My fair lady. Iron and steel will bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow, iron and steel will bend and bow, My fair lady.  _

_ “Build it up with silver and gold, silver and gold, silver and gold, build it up with silver and gold, My fair lady. Silver and gold will be stolen away, stolen away, stolen away, silver and gold will be stolen away, My fair lady. Set a man to watch all night, watch all night, watch all night. Set a man to watch all night, My fair lady. Suppose the man should fall asleep, fall asleep, fall asleep, suppose the man should fall asleep? My fair lady. Give him a pipe to smoke all night, smoke all night, smoke all night, give him a pipe to smoke all night, My fair lady. _ ”

“Hardly,” Josephine snickers, “is that a sng unfit for ladies. It is a song  _ about  _ a lady.” 

“Truly?” 

“Indeed. The four bridges of Orlais were all built in five years by the command of the queen after the death of her husband.”

“Huh.”

She laughed like a bird singing, “Did you not know?” 

“No poor man pays no mind to the royals in ivory.” he informs her. She nods her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“That...is true. I suppose those who must  _ work  _ are not interested in what those who take amenity for granted think.” 

Blackwall moved around her and placed his tools down, “Sadly, no. I’m afraid no working man or woman have the patience to play the Great Game.” 

Josephine simply giggled and bid him good day before going back to her office. He felt a shiver run down his spine and he looked around the barn. In the rafters with the cat, a few of the Shadow people look down, grins like daggers. He glares at them. 

“Well?” he snaps, “What do you lot want?” 

“ _ Ladybird, ladybird fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children are gone. All except one, and her name is Abelas; and she hid under the baking pan. _ ” They sing down at him. He has half a mind to chuck a spear at them, but he knows it would do no good. 

*******

Leliana gets the letter from Cullen the same day as Maraas comes back to Skyhold. The letter is slightly burnt and thick the many pages. She narrows her eyes at it. She spends the first part of the day making sure that Cullen did in fact write it. The late lunch she has is used to be spent reading it and feeling like she is spying on something she has no right to. She gives Maraas the letter at dusk and Maraas thanks her. Leliana wonders how Maraas will take the letter. 

She wonders if they know how sickeningly sweet they are. She doubts it. No one in love is ever aware of sweet they act toward each other. How horrible it is for everyone else to see that kind of happiness so blantaly thrown in their faces. She knows. She had watched the woman she loved marry the man who would be king. He was a good man. 

A kind man. 

He would never understand her, she deserved a better man. But what Leliana thought was better was not even worth her time. Leliana knew that. She closes her eyes and thinks of the woman who saved the world. She can see her so  _ clearly  _ in her mind. She can see their baby too. She can see how happy they are, and she can not begrudge them that. 

Maker, does she want to. 

*******

Iron Bull was letting Abelas swing on his arm when Maraas came to find them in the shade of the trees by the training ring, “Hey, boss.” 

He swung Abelas down to the ground and Maraas looked at him for a moment, before running her fingers through the unruly black hair. She opened her mouth to speak and Bull shook his head. She strained her ears. Almost silent feet shifting behind her. She turned and Gatt was there, watching them. He bowed to them, a sour look on his face. Maraas and Bull kept their expression blank. Abelas simply watched him and he got down on one knee to speak to her. 

“Herald, my superiors have named you  _ “basalit-an” _ , it means respected one. We would be honored to join you in the fight against Corypheus. You’ll have Qunari support on the seas, as well as our full intelligence network.” 

Abelas looked at Maraas and Bull. They wore the same expressions of blankness. She licked her lips and then held the edge of her shirt as she nodded her head at him, “I...look forward to working with your people.” 

“The feeling is mutual.” Gatt sneered and got up. He walked away and Bull let out a whistle when he was gone. Maraas looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He gently tugged on a wild strand of hair growing up out of Abelas’ head. Abelas tried to swat his hand he chuckled. 

“A Qunari alliance, that’s a first.” 

Maraas looked down at Abelas as she tried to swat Bull away from playing with her wild, long hair, “Our more trusted agents can work with the Ben-Hassrath.” 

“Good idea. So no one steps on each others toes, I’ll pass it along.” 

Bull ruffled Abelas as he moved away and Maraas called out to him, “Bull...we are given our titles. We do not choose them. We choose very little in our lives while under The Qun.” 

Bull didn’t turn to speak to her, “So?” 

“How do it feel to finally choose?” 


	17. Seeking the Seekers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear, Abelas. Happy birthday to you.

Cassandra had been fighting with the training dummies for the better part of the early dawn light. Cullen had left with his men long ago, clad in his lion armor she had not seen him wear for a long time. She didn’t know if this would be good for him or not, but she also knew it was not her place to judge. As she took one final swing she threw the practice sword down into the dirt and wiped the sweat from her eyes. She looked up at the sky, and found it to be a grey and dull. The green of the Fade and the Breach was no longer there. She was grateful for that. 

Since the recent news from their mages had made her uneasy. The Seekers have been found but to what end she can not say. The mages are afraid to try and peek in with magic, and she understands their fear. But Cassandra knows she will need to tell Maaras. Which will lead to two things happening. One being that she is denied her request until they reach a more stable point in their quest. Which Cassandra will admit while not what she would have wanted, she would accept.

Or the second thing which would be that Maaras would approve of her mission and gather what was left of their inner circle to go. The only problem with that is, Vivienne  _ does not like Cole.  _ And Cole is, well, Cole. She smacks her head onto the stone by the water draft and then rubs at the spot. Hurting herself will solve nothing. 

“Then why do it?” Cole asks her and she snaps around to glare at him.

“I told you to stay out of my head, Cole.” 

Cole peeks at her from under his hat, “Sorry. You think very loud.” 

“I am sure.” she says and goes to splash water on her face. Cole says something that the water blocks out. As she wipes the wetness from her face she once more looks at him and asks, “What?” 

“You and Cullen think loudly all the time.” 

Cassandra laughs at this, “Well, I am sorry then for our loud  _ thoughts _ .” 

“At least I can hear you. Other people are so... **quiet** . It makes me afraid that I don’t hear them right and then I end up hurting them.” Cole says as he wrings his hands together. 

“Like Vivienne?” 

Cole shakes his head, “Maaras. She is a very soft thinker. Like Varric and The Iron Bull.” 

“I bet Sera and Orta are loud as well.” 

Cole smiles at her, “It’s a different loud.” 

“A  _ better _ loud you mean.” 

Cole shakes his head, “Noise is noise inside your head. Abelas—” he cuts himself off. 

Cassandra frowns at this, “Cole?” 

“Silent and sleeping and so much  _ fear.  _ She doesn’t speak in her own head unless it's to scream.  _ Go away, go away. _ She is afraid of him.” 

“You mean Corypheus?” she asks. 

Cole looks at her with those watery blue eyes and she can only see nothing in them and it sends a shiver down her spine, “No. Something much  _ older _ and much  _ angrier _ . She is not afraid of Corypheus...she has a worst thing to fight than him.” 

Cole is gone between one blink and the next. 

********************

He is holding her hand as they walk past tall and elegant mirrors that are broken and dark. She knows that once these mirrors glowed like light through crystal. But now they are broken and dark. The one with glass are sick and red lyrium grows out of them. He keeps walking, even paced and steady on the marble path. She keeps up with him and they walk in silence. She is still holding her rabbit close to her. 

A light is in the distance and they walk toward it. She looks up and the universe press down on her. Shadow people—ghost of her power from long ago—soon join them toward the light. He is still holding her hand. The light eats them whole once they are close enough and she has to close her eyes to avoid being blinded. She blinks her eyes open and her breath is taken away. He gives her hand one final squeeze and lets her hand go as she takes a step forward. 

The others cast themselves down upon the fragrant grass, but Abelas stood awhile still lost in wonder. It seemed to her that she had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which her language had no name. All that she saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut—as if they had been first conceived and drawn at the uncovering of her eyes—and ancient as they had endured forever. She saw no color but the ones that she knew. Gold and white and blue and green with vivid reds and perky pinks casting highlights and lowlights. She turns to look at him and smiles.

He has long white-blonde hair shaved at the sides and braided, jewels woven into the braid itself. He has soft green eyes and golden looking skin. His marking are a light green and they show honor to Mythal. She tilts her head at him, “Do I know you?” 

He chuckles and get down on one knee, “Yes. But you were much younger the last time we met. I’ve been waiting for you. For such a  _ long _ time.”

“Who are you?” she asked and hugged her rabbit close. 

He puts his hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “A Guardian of the Well of Sorrows.”

Abelas has no idea what that is but it sounds important so she nods her head. She rubs at the kiss mark he left her, “Why am I here?” 

“I have something important to tell you. But you must remember it.” he said softly and gently tapped her on the nose, “I will be important to you later, when we meet in the waking world. Can you promise me to remember it?” 

“I’ll try.” 

“Good. When you come back to the place where she sat upon her throne, follow the river past the twin archers and the broken bridges. Do not wander from the path. When you enter the temple, follow each tile until they sing and you shall be lead to me. When you arrive I shall give you that which is your  _ birthright _ .” 

“What is it?” 

“Something so  _ powerful _ that I will not leave this world until one of us who has been chosen can carry it from its resting place.” he answered. 

She bites her lip, “Is it heavy?” 

He laughs and kisses her forehead again, “Sometimes. But it a burden I would not trust to anyone else. I will see you soon, Abelas.” 

“Bye.” she says and when she blinks she is looking up at the ceiling of her room. She rubs at her eyes as she sits up. 

“Look who is awake.” Maraas teases from the desk where she does paperwork. Abelas sits up with a sleepy smile and rubs at her eyes. 

“I had a nice dream.” she informs Maaras. 

Maraas looks at her with a smile, “A nice change of pace from the nightmares, at least. What was it about?” 

Abelas giggles and grabs her rabbit to smash her cheek into the rough material—now worn down into something soft—and says, “I saw an old friend.” 

************

Cullen  **hates** the swamp. The air is foul with whatever remains of the plague here. The water clings to them, thick and slimy. The trees are water rotten and weep sick looking pus from their cracks. The undead hinder them from shore to shore. The only relief is that Abelas had been brought here some time ago to seal the rifts and demons are no longer running amok. They have made good time and now stand on the stone steps of a fallen fortress. 

Cullen can hear the Avaar inside. They are loud and their fires are bright to ward off the swamp fumes. His agents look at him and he can see it in their eyes. They worry for him. It has been many years since he fought another person. Demons he has become old hat at, but he hasn’t fought another living person since  _ Kirkwall _ . And Kirkwall was a long time ago. 

He closes his eyes and says a soft prayer. He can see Abelas in her little rough spun pants and little summer shirt, digging in the garden with the mages. The rabbit sits next to her and she is so  _ happy.  _ She turns and waves at him, a bright smile on her young face. He has lost his place in his prayer. He opens his eyes and makes sure the grip on shield is tight. Abelas has yet to be wrong when her dreams tell her things. 

He shall heed her words. 

As they go toward the biggest fire, the noise of the Avvar dies down until it is silent. He looks up at the man who sneers down at him. The man who wanted to fight Abelas. The man scoffs at him and then chuckles, pointing to Cullen and his men. 

“Look at that lads!” he chuckles, “More  _ lowlanders _ come to save their friends.” 

The Avvar laugh and Cullen waits until they are done to speak, “You are the man who wanted to fight The Herald?” 

“Aye. Well then? Where is she?” 

“She is a  **child** ,” Cullen says and instead holds his sword level to the man on the broken dais and throne before him, “I am Cullen Stanton Rutherford. Former Templar and leader of the armies of the Inquisition. I am the champion to The Herald. I fight on her behalf.” 

The man grabs his weapon, almost as big as Cullen is tall and stomps down the stone steps until he is glaring down at Cullen, “So, she is too  _ afraid _ to face me?”

“No. She is too  _ young _ .” 

“What are you to her then? Her father?” he snaps. 

Cullen thinks it over for a moment. Abelas is still too young to be a mage. She might very well be someone who had been blessed by mistake. But Cullen has seen her power and the things she can do and how tiny she could make you feel with a simple look. This man may be taller than Cullen but Abelas  _ towers _ over him. If she was his daughter his pride in her might choke him. But it would be a death he would  _ happily _ accept. 

Cullen smirks and answers, “I am what she needs me to be. And right now she needs me to be her right hand and slay her enemies.” 

“I will enjoy killing you and sending your  _ head _ back to her then.” 

Cullen put on his helmet, the lion's maw opened wide so he could see, “Greater men than men have tried.” 

The Avvar swung down and Cullen rolled to the side, coming back up with his shield to block the backswing. It sent him sliding on the ground and he used the force to get back to his feet quickly, blade steady and shield up. 

The man growled out, “I am the hand of the north himself!” 

Cullen wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t. The two-handed war hammer would shatter his bones if he wasn’t careful. The ruined throne room would provide cover but the loose rocks could make him lose his footing as well. The man charged at him, war hammer held at his side. Cullen ducked out of the way of the swing and twisted to be behind him. He sent a short stab at him and then slowly backed up, letting his feet drag as to clear the way of tiny rocks. The Avvar turned around with a sneer on his face and a growl in his throat. 

Abelas had been right. He had been hurt as a child and favored his right side. His left ankle always pointing away from the fight and was bracing him. Cullen used his left hand to draft letters, drink and point. But it was also his shield hand. Better to be quick to block rather than quick to kill. His right hand in contrast had been broken often while being trained. 

He knew how to hold so he didn’t do it again. This Avvar had no sense. War hammers were not fast weapons, but they dealt great deals of damage. A benefit to be sure, provided one had kept their legs in tact. Cullen rolled his shoulders and knew what he needed to do. The avvar charged again, twisting his body as he did so. A whirlwind. 

He had seen Bull do it when training the men. He braced for impact and let it carry him to the ground. He rolled with the momentum and then out of the way as the hammer came down. He got to his feet and smirked. The helmet blocked it from view but he smirked anyway. As the Avvar came back to swing his hammer down on his head, Cullen ducked left and used every inch of his strength to cut through bone and the joint. The Avvar fell with a scream, holding onto his leg above where Cullen had cut it off. 

Cullen stood over him and kicked away the war hammer, sending it skidding across the stone floor. He stabbed down into his skull and the screaming stopped. He looked around the room and the other Avvar all scoffed and then got up and left in small groups. One threw a key at him and pointed to a door on the left hand side of the room.

“We put ‘em there. Take them and go, lowlander.” 

*****************

Cassandra sat in the lounge chair and watched as Abelas used the table in front of her to keep her paper steady as she drew. Maaras was speaking to Josephine about something and Cassandra was waiting for her chance to speak. The Seekers had been found and she wanted to let Maaras know. Abelas stopped coloring in the grass and grabbed a tan color next, making the towers of Skyhold. She was humming and her rabbit sat on the table at her elbow, hunched on itself. It looked like the rabbit was watching her draw. Abelas looked up at her and smiled. 

Cassandra smiled back and pointed to the empty space on the page, “What is going here?” 

“Everyone.” Abelas said. 

“Even Varric?” Cassandra asked with a chuckle. 

“Yep.” Abelas said, “Even Varric gets to be in the picture. And all of the Chargers too.” 

“You may need more than one page.” 

Abelas looked down, “If I don’t go one at a time I start...I start writing those runes.” 

Cassandra looked at the small stack of papers on the side of Abelas. Some of them had been ripped and crumpled. But the top page had ten evenly spaced runes on them, each one red and angry looking. Solas had taken to studying the runes she put on paper and making noises as he looked them. Dorian, Vivienne and Solas had “discussed” loudly on the runes and if they meant anything. Dorian was a pure blood of old Tevinter and thought that the runes were used in spells of war and blood magic. Something that Corypheus would use if he ever found them. 

Vivienne was a mage of the modern age that held true to tradition. She thought the runes nothing more than childish spells, things the elves taught to the next generation. A way to control their powers. Solas—being the resident “expert” on all thing Elvhen and especially ancient Elvhen and anything related to the Fade—said that both of them were right but also missing the mark. Runes were once used to summon all manner of things, for war and for non-violent things as well. Children were taught how to make the runes and put them in correct order to summon. But—he had told them all one night long after Abelas had gone to bed—these runes were much darker. 

They did not summon little things. They summoned  _ Gods _ . A calling card as it were. Lucky for them, Abelas didn’t know how to put them in correct order because these runes summoned  **death** . Cassandra was worried though. Abelas would get unlucky one day and put them in order. She prayed to the Maker above that never happened. 

“Cassandra?” Maaras said as Josephine walked down the stairs speaking to her aids, “You needed to talk to me?” 

Cassandra stood up, smoothing out her pants and keeping her head high, “Yes. It is in regards to the missing Seekers.” 

“You found them? Or so Leliana told me.” 

“Yes. As you know, Abelas was able to get the mages on our side, but the Templars refused to speak to us.” 

“I am aware.” Maraas says and sits down in her chair. Cassandra sits across from her. 

“One of the mages,” Cassandra informs her, “as I am sure Leliana has told you, had a cousin in the Templars when they left Val Royeaux. She was able to get a letter to her and the letter was concerning. Leliana was able to track where the letter came from and sent some of her people to spy on them.” 

Maraas nods her head and goes over to one the small crates behind her desk and looks through them for a moment before pulling a small stack out, “I did get a report on it. Not a lot of information but something about...a place called Therinfal Redoubt?” 

“A former training sight for the Seekers of Truth. It had fallen into disrepair some time ago. Lelianas people found signs of red lyrium abuse.” Cassandra says with a sigh. 

Maraas looked down at her desk, “That isn’t good. We’ve seen what happens to both mages  _ and  _ Templars when under the influence of red lyrium. Where are they? Your Seekers?” 

“You..approve?” Cassandra asked in shock.

“This is a problem we need to take care of. If the Seekers will not help  _ anyone _ then they are a liability I can not tolerate. But if you can make them see reason, then it is worth it.” 

“They are at Caer Oswin.” 

Maraas frowned and then said, “A nobleman's name is attached to that place.” 

“Yes. Bann Loren. I didn’t think he would involve himself in this war. How did you know?” Cassandra asked her with narrowed eyes. 

“I was a mercenary,” Maraas chuckled, “you meet all  _ kinds _ of people. I have never met him, but I have heard his name and the name of his holdings in passing. From what I know of him, he is a man who has done little to earn others ire.” 

“Bann Loren is a pious and unassuming man. What has he become involved in?” 

“We’ll find out. Once Cullen is home we can take our leave.” 

“Oh?” 

Maraas chuckled, “Abelas won’t follow me if Cullen is here.” 

Cassandra chuckled, “Is that so?” 

“She thinks him like a father. She’ll keep his ear while I am away and he’ll keep her safe.” Maraas said with a shrug of her massive shoulder. 

***************

Maraas looked up the hill that lead them to Caer Oswin. Cassandra stood next to her, also looking up at the hill, the trees blocking most of the stonework from view at the bottom of the hill. It was a massive stronghold to be certain, but Maraas had seen bigger. Some castles could put the buildings in Val Royeaux to shame. As they walked up the hill, Cassandra tapped her fingers on her thigh, the metal making tiny noises. Behind them Vivienne strode on in her white heeled boots and Cole brought up the rear. As they reached the first door, Cassandra once again asked the question she had asked back in her office in Skyhold. 

“What has he become involved in?”

“It might not be by choice, darling.” Vivienne said as she tested the weight of her staff in her hand, twirling it slowly between each and every finger in both hands. 

“We’re about to find out.” Maraas said and kicked open the door, charging in and swinging. A few spells flew past her and took out the people in front of her. Cassandra came charging in after and in a shimmer of light a few enemies dropped as well. Coles work. Maraas used her two handed weapon to smash the enemy into the stonework, leaving blood trails from their dead bodies. Cassandra was a better swordsman than all of them, and was able to fight four on one all by herself. 

Vivienne shot out fire, ice, and blocked any attack thrown at her, while also killing each enemy stupid enough to try and fight her. Cole danced in the shadows and the new enemies running into the room dropped before making it ten steps in. When the fighting was over, the floor of the room was soaked in blood and Cassandra wiped her forehead. Cole wandered away from them and Maraas cleaned her weapon. Cassandra rolled one of the men over and then scowled down at him. 

“ **_Promisers_ ** .” she spat, “I should have known.” 

Maraas had never heard of them. But they had ticked off Cassandra in less than a word. Even Varric wasn’t that good, “Who are they?” 

“The Order of Fiery Promise is a cult with... _ strange _ beliefs about the Seekers. They’ve hounded us for centuries.” Cassandra said as she cleaned her sword. 

Cole came back in and said, “The next door is locked. We need a key.” 

Vivienne rolled her eyes, “Of course we do.” 

“Tell me more about these...Promisers, Cassandra. What kind of strange beliefs?” Maraas said as she began to look for the key on the dead bodies. Cassandra and Cole both got down on one knee and helped her looked for the key. Cole was quick with his boney hands. 

“They believe  _ they  _ are Seekers—the only rightful ones. They say we robbed their powers—long ago—preventing them from ending the world.”

“Ending the world?” Maraas chuckled as she found the key and they all made their way to the next door to proceed. 

“The only way to truly eradicate evil,” Cassandra told her with a shrug of her shoulders, “in their eyes. “The world will be reborn a paradise.” It’s all nonsense.” 

Maraas had heard that often when she had been under the thumb of the Qun. Who knew it—you got to be reborn! No one. Rebirth was a concept with no proof to the contrary. It was a comforting thought, to think that your loved ones would be given a second or even third chance when they died. All sinners prayed for a second chance. Maraas picked up a torch from the wall to light their way, “Why haven’t the Seeker dealt with them?” 

“We have. Many times.” Cassandra said, her voice echoing in the hallway, “They simply reappear after a time. Like  _ weeds _ . Nobody knows how.”

“They can’t fight worth a damn.” 

Vivienne chuckled and Cassandra did her smile-smirk, “Indeed.” 

“Never be afraid of cheap knockoffs,” Vivienne sniffed, “they rarely stand the test.” 

Cassandra nodded her head, “This  _ explains _ why the Seekers might be here, but not the  _ connection _ to Corypheus.” 

The door stood before them and Maraas used the key to unlock it. The bolt made a noise that echoed and they all waited a moment. Nothing. Maraas put the torch on the wall and let Cassandra got in front of her, shield raised. Maraas threw open the door and Vivienne cast down a barrier spell on them. Cole was gone in a blink of the eye. The courtyard roared into life as a battle took place. 

Cassandra blocks the arrow that comes flying in toward them. She takes a leap onto the roof of the one of the leaning barns and cuts down the archer before jumping down to the courtyard below, rolling as she lands. She slices up to kill one foe and blocks another from hitting her. She pushes the enemy away from her as the other one falls. She beats on the sword the enemy is using to block her and by the fourth blow she knocks it away. She stabs up into the ribs and then moves on to the next enemy. He is a big bruiser but Cassandra doesn’t care.

She’s better than him. She ducks and weaves under each swipe of his sword, jabbing at his knees and sides to wear him down. He only gets her shield and she braces for the impact each time. As he tries she presses him until she gets a stab into the side under his armor. He falls easy. Cassandra turns and three of them hesitate to come at her. Big mistake. 

Cole uses the shadows to get each and every archer. He checks their pocket each time. Abelas said that Orta had told her to check dead people's pockets. It was important. So he does. He finds a shiny blue stone, not a diamond, or anything like that. Just a shiny stone. 

Abelas would like it. He takes it with him. He takes out the last archer and then goes to help Cassandra. She is angry. Cole understands. But he knows the truth and he knows if he told her, she wouldn’t listen to him anyway. Abelas is not here, nor is Solas, to tell them he is right.

But that’s all right. The truth comes out sooner or later. 

Vivienne wants to scoff. These false  _ Seekers _ are so easy to fight that she wonders if they have ever been trained to fight mages. Seekers are the best of the best templars, and even the weakest templar can fight a mage. These poor fools can barely figure out what to do. Setting one on fire makes three others jump and try to put out their comrade. Freezing another makes the others slip on the grass. A bolt of lightning travels between ten of them and they drop. 

**Pathetic** . She hopes that when this is all over the Seekers and Templars are rebuilt by those who know how to lead them. Cassandra and Cullen would do wonders. Cullen is a kind man and with Abelas hanging off him like a daughter on her father, he will be cautious in his choices. He would do well to keep the mages in check. Cassandra would lead the Seekers back to their former glory. She hopes that if Cullen and Cassandra take their rightful place, the put a new Divine on the throne of power that is  _ worthy  _ of the title; like the woman before her.  

Maraas swings her weapon and send a few flying. Cole comes in to help her as needed and Vivienne puts up the barrier again each time it falls. She keeps an eye on Cassandra. She is livid but her face shows nothing. Maraas can understand that. She had felt the same way when Abelas had been missing. It  _ hurts _ to know your loved one are hurt. 

So she keeps fighting. She has to. 

Cassandra, after the battle, stabs her sword into the dirt and picked up a piece of paper that had fallen from one of the enemies bags, her eyes scanning it and reading aloud, “‘As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effects of red lyrium, The Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care. Reclaim your destiny, and know that The Elder One expects your devotion as repayment. Signed by Lord Samson, Commander of the Red Templars.’ Does Corypheus not realize that the Promisers want the world to  _ end _ ? What use are they to him?” 

Maraas had known men like him before. She knew why, “Corypheus will betray them before they get a chance. They are a means to an end, for him.” 

Cole was looking through the bodies, taking any coin, any healing items and placing it in a small pile beside Vivienne. When he found a large brass key he held it out to Maraas. She grabbed it with a smile and then turned back to look at Cassandra. Cole went back to the bodies. Vivienne began to pack away the things Cole found. After she wiped them off. It was progress. 

“After he gets what he needs out of them.” Cassandra growled and ripped the paper apart in her hands. She began to slowly pace in front of the large staircase, “But this doesn’t explain  _ how _ he captured the Seekers in the first place, or what’s been done to them. We must keep looking” 

Something in the letter bothered Maraas and she said it aloud, because now she was curious about it, “The letter said Seekers are resistant to red lyrium.” 

Cassandra paused in her pacing, “Our abilities grant us many gifts, but a resistance to red lyriums corruption? That seems strange. Although...it would explain why  _ none  _ have numbered among the red templars. And thusly we would be useless to Corypheus; he would have no leash to hold us.” 

“We’ll find them, Cassandra.” Maraas said and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “We’ll find them.” 

“I know we will. One way or another.” she said and turned to march up the grand staircase, her sword picked up on the way, and her back straight with her head held high. As they went up the stairs and unlocked the door, Maraas thought of something. Something Solas and her had talked about when they had been in Haven. The door opened and they were in yet another fight, but her mind was not in the present. It had been bothering her for some time.

_ Solas sits on the steps leading into Haven, and his eyes track Abelas. His eyes track her often. Maraas worries because all adults track children when they pass by, but Solas  _ watches  _ her too closely. Maraas sits next to him and they sit together in silence for a time. Abelas follows Cullen, step by step, trying to keep up with his long strides as he checks the men.  _

_ “If you knew what she would become _ — _ even if it was something  _ **_worse_ ** _ than Corypheus _ — _ would you be able to stop her?” he asks her with a distant tone.  _

_ Maraas looks at him out of the corner of her eye, “How much worse?”  _

_ “A plague on all races. Unapologetically cruel and with no shred of sympathy for  _ **_any_ ** _ living creature.” Solas tells her as he turns his head toward her.  _

_ Abelas trips on a rock and fall flat into the mud. Her tiny hands catch on Cullens coat and he stops. Turning he picks her up and wipes off the mud. Abelas holds back her tears and he takes off his gloves to wipe them away. Her brave girl. Maraas stands, “I will not need to stop her. She is too soft to be what you think.”  _

_ “All things are born soft. But even ugly ducklings can become swans.”  _

_ “Some things only grow to  _ look  _ horrible.”  _

_ “And some things are  _ **_born_ ** _ horrible.” Solas says as he stands and walks back to his hut. _

She cuts down the last enemy and looks around. She is getting tired and Vivienne looks glossy. Even the mage is starting to wane. Cole hovers near Cassandra as she tries to catch her breath. She will have her answers before this ends. She wipes away the sweat on the back of her neck, “Let us rest a moment.” 

“ **No** .” Cassandra snapped, “We must find the Seekers.” 

Maraas will not argue with her. She rolls her eyes as Cassandra takes the stairs and they all follow her. A light shines down from another staircase in the middle of the hall. At the bottom of the steps, a man lies propped up like a rag doll. As they get closer, they can see he is a young man. He looks ill, as though some kind of long lasting ailment has taken all of his color from him and all of his strength. Cassandra knows him. 

“ _ Daniel _ !” Cassandra gasps and gets on one knee next to him, touching him softly on the hand, “Daniel, can you hear me?” 

“Cassandra?” he asks her weakly, trying to lift his head to look at her, “It is  _ you.  _ You’re alive.” he sounds so relieved. 

“As are you. I’m so glad I found you.” Cassandra says to him. It is a moment of rest and Maraas will not rush this. She kneels down as well to look at the man named Daniel. 

Daniel shakes his head, and tears roll down his cheeks, “No...they...they put a demon  _ inside  _ me. It’s tearing me up.” 

Cassandra jerks back in surprise, “What? You can’t be possessed—that’s  _ impossible _ !” 

“I’m not possessed. They fed me...things. I can feel it growing.” he whispers in pain to her and grips her hand tightly in his. 

Maraas looks to Cassandra, “Can we do anything?”

“I....I don’t know. This things inside him…”

“The Lord Seeker,” Daniel says with a cough, “you have to find him.” 

“Of course we’ll find. If he lives, we’ll—”

Daniel reach up to cup her cheek and speaks clearly, “Lucius  **betrayed** us, Cassandra. He sent us here, one by one. “An important mission,” he said.  _ Lies _ ! He was here with them all along, he’s still working with them.” 

At this Maraas shakes her head and stands, popping her knees as she does so, “We met Lord Seeker Lucius in Val Royeaux. He couldn’t have been here.” 

“That wasn’t him,” Daniel says and lets his hand fall away from Cassandra to lie limp in his lap, “It was a demon. Masquerading.” 

“What?” Cassandra shakes her head, “How could that be?”

Daniel took a deep breath before speaking, “The Lord Seeker allowed it. He  _ let  _ the demon take command, while he…” 

“Came here.” Cassandra finished, looking down. 

Maraas cracked her knuckles and popped her back, looking up at the sunlight streaming down on them. Up there was the last place they could hide. She looked back down at Cassandra and folded her arms over her broad chest, “If we find the Lord Seeker, he’s dead.” 

Cassandra moved to stand and Daniel stopped her by gripping her hand, “ **Wait** ! Don’t leave me like this. Please.” 

Cassandra got down on both knees and touched his face softly, “You should have come with me. You didn’t believe in the war anymore than I did.” 

Daniel gave a coughing chuckle, “You know me. I wanted that promotion.” 

“Go to the Makers side, Daniel.” Cassandra said as she took out her dagger and placed it under his chin, right above his adam's apple, “You will be welcome.” 

Daniel dropped to the floor, blood rushing to coat the bottom of their shoes. 

“I’m sorry, Cassandra.” Cole says softly. 

Cassandra looks down at the body, her dagger held firm, “He was my apprentice. I have never known a finger young man.  _ Now,  _ we find Lord Seeker Lucius.” 

As they go up the stairs, the sunlight blinds them for a moment. But only a moment. They are once again flung head first into a fight. The path leading up the hill is made of tightly woven stone but overgrown grass seems to weep out between them. It is a long way up and they are tired. They push on anyway. Cassandra blocks the arrows with her shield, Vivienne sets them aflame. 

Cole kills from the shadows and Maraas hits them hard enough to break bone. One of them gets lucky and almost nicks Vivienne on the arm. Cole blocks the blade and she sends them flying. Right into Cassandra and her sword. As they near a wooden door they catch their breath. They wipe the sweat off their hands and make sure that their breathing is even before they move on. 

Cassandra pushes open the door. 

As the door opens, they are greeted by whatever remains of The Seekers of Truth. Cassandra strides toward them, a scowl on her face, “Lord Seeker Lucius.”

Lucius bows his head politely at them, “Cassandra. And a woman I can only  _ assume  _ is the new Inquisitor.” 

Maraas glares down her nose at this man after coming to stand beside Cassandra, “And you’re the man who  _ betrayed  _ his own order.” 

“I presume,” Lucius says with a sigh, “that you know. We Seekers of Truth were once the original Inquisition. Oh yes, we fought to restore order in a time of madness, long ago. As you do now. And we became  _ proud.  _ We sought to remake the world—to make it better. But what did we create; The Chantry, The Circles of Magi. A war that will see no end.” 

“And aiding Corypheus is suppose to help?” Maraas said with a scoff. 

Lucius chuckled, “Corypheus is a monster with  _ limited  _ ambition.”

“And your  _ ambition  _ is so much greater.” Cassandra snapped. 

“We Seekers are abominations, Cassandra.” Lucius says and he looks directly at her, a frown on his face, “We created a decaying world, and fought to preserve it, even as it crumbled. We had to be stopped. Don’t believe me? See for yourself.” 

He took out a thick book from behind him, having tucked it into his belt, and and held it out to Cassandra. It had the same all seeing sun as their flag did. Cole crept close and whispered into Marass’ back, “Old and terrible things live in that book.” 

Lucius kept speaking, “The secrets of our order. Passed to me after the former Lord Seeker was slain. The war with the mages had already begun, Cassandra, but it was not too late for me to do the right thing.” 

“And  _ this  _ was the right thing?” Maraas asked him, gesturing to where they were. A crumbling castle, a dead boy behind them and countless others. A mad man who spoke to demons. Lucius looked at her, his eyes wilde but his voice clear and strong. 

Cassandra shook her head, “Lord Seeker, what you’ve done…”

“I know.” he said, “But what Corypheus did to the Templars does not matter. I have seen the future. I have created a  _ new  _ order to replace the old. The world will end so we can start anew. A pure beginning. Join us, Cassandra. It is the Makers will.”  

Cassandra drew her sword. 

The Seekers are Templars but better. And they are men and women who have nothing to lose. They are well rested and eager to kill. Vivienne cast down a strong barrier which breaks when the first one smacks into Maraas. Cole uses the shadows but he is barely fast enough to block some of the blows. Vivienne and Cassandra hold their own well. The battle starts at mid afternoon and ends as the sun is setting. 

Marass wipes the blood from her eyes and Cassandra picks up the tome where it had fallen. She looked down at it for a long time before shaking her head. They head back to Skyhold in silence. Cole doesn’t even bother Vivienne the whole trip. They have been gone but two weeks. Cullen is finally home. He is home. . 

Maraas and Cassandra had both gone to her office—after making a detour to Cullen's tower. Abelas was curled in the crook of his arm, sleeping soundly, and so Maraas let them be—and the hour was late. Together they sat in silence as Cassandra read the tome she had gotten from Lucius. As dawn peeked over the mountains, she shut the book and placed it on the desk in front of her. Maraas finished her last thought, blowing on the ink and then looked up at Cassandra.

Cassandra gave a deep sigh, “This tome has passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker, since the time of the old Inquisition. And now it falls to me.” 

Maraas tries to lighten the mood, “So that was a lot of dry, boring,  _ painful _ reading then?” 

“Do you know what the Rite of Tranquility is?” Cassandra asks her as she gets up and pours them both drinks. Maraas takes her cup as Cassandra sits back in her chair heavily, “The last resort used on mages in the circle, leaving them unable to cast, but depriving them of dreams and all emotion.” 

Maraas take a sip of her drink, “I see.” She has seen the aftermath of The Rite. It is a kinder form of slavery than what they do to their own mages back under The Qun. She shudders to think of what they might do to Abelas, had they been the ones to find her instead. Here, she is still too young, and the mark is blamed for the oddness around her. The Qun would not have even given her the benefit of doubt. She licks her lips. 

Cassandra holds up her hand, “It should only be used on those who can not control their abilities. But that has not always been the case.” 

“Does the book say if it's used for other things?”

“No.” Cassandra says and takes a sip of her drink, “As a Seeker, I looked into...abuses. Mages made tranquil as punishment. What finally began the Mage Rebellion was a discovery that The Rite of Tranquility could be  _ reversed.  _ The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up—harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge. The shock of its discovery in  _ addition  _ to what happened in Kirkwall...but it appears that we’ve  _ always  _ known how to reverse the Rite. From the beginning.” 

Down below the sounds of life float up and into the room from the open balcony windows. Maraas hears the men getting yelled at by Cullen. The hammers of the blacksmith. She can smell the bread cooking. She looks down at her drink, they got in late. She places it away from her, “So...the rebellion could have been prevented.”

“Perhaps.” Cassandra says and polishes off her cup before placing it down at her feet, “But it was a long time coming...for many reasons. We created the Rite of Tranquility. To become a Seeker, I spent months in a vigil, emptying myself of  _ all  _ emotion. I was made tranquil and did not even know. The the vigil...summoned a spirit of faith to touch my mind. That  _ broke  _ the tranquility—and gave me my abilities. 

“The Seekers did not share that secret. Not with me, not with the Chantry, not even with...there’s more. Lucius was not  _ wrong  _ about the order. I thought to rebuild the Seekers once victory was ours. But now I’m not certain it  _ deserves  _ to be rebuilt.”

Maraas runs her finger along the rim of her glass, “You said there was more in the book.” 

Cassandra nodded her head and leaned back in the chair, “At some point, power becomes its own master. We cast aside ideals in favor for expedience and tell ourselves it was all  _ necessary _ . For the people. Will that happen to us, Maraas? Will we repeat history?”

Maraas could lie. Say that they are nothing like the Seekers. That they will do better. But why lie? Once they become like the Templars, or the Seekers, or the Chantry, all of them will be a thousand or more years dead. She can’t be certain though. Maybe the next generation will think of something better. 

Will be better than them and keep to these ideals that lie dying at their feet. Maraas tells her, “I don’t know.”

“I wonder how much we resemble what they  _ used  _ to be.” 

Maraas looks at her a long time, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so shaken, Cassandra.” 

Cassandra rubs at her face, “I do not think that the Seekers have been doing the Makers work, not truly. Perhaps we believed it—once. The original Inquisition came to be during a terrible time. But now? We harbor secrets and let them fester. We acted to  _ survive,  _ but not to  _ serve.  _ That is  **_not_ ** the Makers work.” 

Maraas lets her sit in her own thoughts for a moment and then asks her, “If you  _ did  _ rebuild the Seekers, how would you do it?”

“I can’t be the only one remaining. We were always spread to the winds, and some may still be out there. I will find them, one by one, we would all read this book—no more secrets. Then together we would establish a new charter, the Makers work, in truth.” 

“And what is the “Maker's work,” Cassandra?” Maraas asks her witha slight frown. 

“There is no way to know for certain. That is why we must seek it out. Maybe we lost our way because...we stopped looking.” Cassandra says as she stands. Her face is tired and her body seems to slump into itself. Her faith is shaken. 

“Cassandra,” Maraas says and stand as well, coming around to hold her by the shoulders, “that is not for us to decide. No one person alive has ever known why another has lost their way. You are a woman of  _ immovable _ faith. That is more than any person here at this very moment can claim in truth. So if you chose to go down this road, even if it a hard won battle uphill with no end in sight, then you are more of a Seeker than any other I have ever met.” 

Cassandra looks at her a long moment and then smiles, “Thank you. I could not have done this on my own.” 

“Liar.” Maraas chuckles and walks her to the door. She then gets ready to sleep, her body slowly winding down. She feels as though she has only slept for a moment when her door is slammed open and a scout comes running up, eyes wild and breath quick. 

“Inquisitor!” 

“What?” she asks, groggy and light head. 

“I bring news. It is about the lady herald!”

“What?” she says again, more awake. 

“Clan Lavellan is at the gates and are demanding her return.” he says. 

**********************

Clan Lavellan was made up of ten people, all angry and nursing wounds that would scar horribly. Dorian, Damen and Bull sat near the fireplace with Varric, watching. Varric was working on his book. Cassandra was leaning on the wall near Josephine's office with Leliana standing next to her. Sera and Blackwall had taken to lurking near the armory door with Orta. Josephine herself was standing on the floor before the throne. Abelas sat on the throne, her eyes darting around. 

Vivienne and Solas hovered above them on the balcony Vivienne had claimed as her own, looking down at them. Cullen stood on Abelas’ right side, his hand held tightly to the pommel of his sword. All of the Templars in the court are just as tense as their leader. Maraas looked at the ten elvhen people before. She sighed heavily and then spoke softly to them. They had been through a lot.  _ Abelas _ had been through a lot. 

“We welcome you to Skyhold.” she said to them with a low bow to them. 

“We don’t plan on staying.” said a woman with a missing eyes, “We want our child back and then we will be on our way.” 

“I don’t want to leave.” Abelas mumbled. The woman looked at her. 

“You will. You are the only living grandchild of our Keeper. You will come with us.” 

Cullen took a step forward and the other Templars in the room gently let their swords peek from their sheaths. Maraas saw Dorian roll his eyes and say something to Damen who nodded his head. Abelas looked ready to faint or run. Maraas sighed and held up her hands in front of her to show them that they were not hostile. 

“Abelas can not leave. She is the only one who can seal rifts and help us bring this to an end.” she told them and the woman pointed at Abelas with a sharp finger. 

“She is not  _ your _ herald!” 

Cullen moved until he was standing right in front Abelas. The Templars moved into a full defensive stance. Cullen glared down at the woman, “Abelas said she didn’t want to leave. And you are correct, she is not a herald. She is a child who has had her life ruined enough.” 

“And who ruined it?” one of the men snapped, “Humans mages.” 

“And now she is surrounded by them.” a red-headed elf sighed and rubbed at his missing arm, “Mages and Qunari. What a  **mess** . Ashihari—”

Abelas smacked her hands down on the armrest—the noise surprisingly loud—her face grief stricken, “ _ Don’t talk about Ashihari! _ ” 

The room was silent for a moment, and Cullen looked at Abelas over his shoulder before looking at the survivors of Clan Lavellan. He looked at Maraas who looked back at him. Cullen took his hand off his sword and took a deep breath. He spoke calmly once he counted to ten in his head, “Let us speak later. For now, pressing business requires our attention. And Abelas needs to attend her lessons.” 

As Abelas got off the throne and Josephine took her by the hand to take her upstairs to go to her lessons. Abelas stopped at the door and spoke firmly, “Ashihari was my mother. I miss her. I missed  _ everyone _ . But I’m not...I’m not leaving here. This place is mine.” 

Clan Lavellan went back out to the courtyard. The others left as well. Maraas and Cullen lingered. Maraas shook her head and sat down on the dias steps, her head hanging low and her arms resting on her legs. Cullen came to sit next to her. She rubbed at her face and looked up. Cullen held out his hand, open and palm up to her. 

She linked their hands and sighed, “What a mess.” 

“Indeed.” 

“I know that now is not the time to bring this up,” Cullen said, “but the plans to stop the assassination of the Empress do need to be talked about. Soon.” 

Maraas groaned and leaned back until her whole back rested on the steps, her horns poking into the stone, “I had forgotten.”

Cullen chuckled, “Which is why I brought it up.” 

“I am too tired for this, Cullen.” 

“As am I.” he sighed and copied her, their hands still linked, “What do you suggest we do then? I’ll follow your lead.” 

“You be the moon and I’ll be the earth. And when we burst we can start over.” 

Cullen laughed loudly, his voice echoing around them, “Leave it all behind? What about everyone else? Abelas?” 

“Abelas—” Maraas paused at this. What could she say? That she thought that her own child was the reincarnation of the god of death to the elvhen people? That she was going to outlive them all unless something else like her came along to kill her? No, she could not voice these fears. Even if they were well founded fears. After all, what child could do what her own had done?

None. No child could do what hers had done. 

Cullen squeezed her hand, “A silly question. She would be the stars between, right?” 

Maraas turned her head to look down at Cullen. His eyes had closed and she could see the tired lines in his face. She smiled, “Yes.” 

******************************

Hawke had her baby a few days later. Fenris paced like a tiger in a cage in front of the door as the healers moved in and out. The birth was loud and long and when the baby cried everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Three babies, one girl and two boys. The were named Bethany Leandra Hawke, Leto Varania Hawke and Malcolm Carver Hawke. Tiny, tan, and loud. Cole was so happy that he kept leaving little things for the family in the room. 

Varric was named a god-father and Carver Hawke—the namesake of one of his nephews— was written a long letter about his now extended family, along with the rest of the Kirkwall crew. It was said only a few hours later that Abelas should bless the babies. Cassandra said it was a good idea, and Leliana also agreed. Clan Lavellan voiced their opposition to the idea but Abelas said she didn’t mind. She had no idea what to do to “bless” babies but she gave them tiny and soft kisses on their heads and everyone said that they were blessed. After the wonderful birth of triplets the reality came back to them. The assassination of the Empress, the demon army, and the end of the world. 

While Hawke and babies rested, Fenris took her place in the meeting. It was plain that they needed to do something. The two main problems hung heavy over their heads. Abelas was safe in bed as they all talked. Josephine kept notes. 

Maraas rubbed at her head as she sat at the war table, looking down at the map, “Leliana, you said that your spies found the Grey Wardens?”

Leliana pointed to where a little figure of a stone fortress on the table, out near the desert, “They are currently in an old fortress, Adamant. A stronghold.”

“Blackwall,” Orta said as she cleaned her nails, “you’re a Grey Warden. What can you tell us about this place?” 

“Well, it was a fortress built before modern siege equipment.” Blackwall said, “So it was probably a place that we went to train for Blights and where the ritual took place. I suppose.” 

“You suppose?” Damen echoed as he rested his head on his arms while he lounged on the table, “You don’t know?” 

Blackwall itched his beard, “The ritual usually takes place wherever. But the fortress is most likely where they trained us for a time before moving out to Weisshaupt.” 

Cassandra nodded her head, “It makes sense. When one fortress falls into disrepair due to there not being enough people to maintain it, a new fortress that cost less to maintain is often found and the old one is used only when deemed necessary.”

“So why do they  _ deem _ it necessary now?” Maraas asked. 

“Good question.” Varric said as he tightened bolts on Biannca, “Something tells me we need an inside man to know that.” 

Fenris, who had been looking at the door since he came in—wanting to be with his wife and his newborn children clear on his face—but knowing he had to be here in Hawkes place since he was the only one of them who knew the information, finally looked at them, “A Grey Warden?” 

“Well,” Sera said with a smirk, “our Grey Warden weren’t invited to the party.” 

Fenris gave a slow nod of his head, “Then I think I might be able to help.” 

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense.” Bull chuckled as he drank from his kegger. 

“A friend of Carvers,” Fenris said, “his mentor, I think, from when he joined the Grey Wardens. A man named Stroud. Last time Hawke spoke to him, he said he was looking into something very concerning. Said he would be in Crestwood if we truly needed to speak to him.” 

“What matter was so  _ concerning _ to him, if I may ask?” Vivienne sniffed from her chair. 

Fenris looked at her for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders, “Something about his order. He didn’t give us much detail. Hawke was more worried about her brother than the Grey Warden order. I assume you can ask him when you get to Crestwood.” 

Dorian looked up from fixing his staff, “Assuming he still  _ is _ in Crestwood and not at the Fortress with the rest of the Wardens,” 

Cullen clicked his tongue, “Crestwood is a long journey from here, even though winter is passing us now. Leliana, can you send people ahead and get us report before we go looking for this...Warden Stroud?” 

Leliana nodded her head, “First light will see them on their way.” 

“One more thing.” Maraas said as she stood up, “The demon army is more important to stop than the death of a leader. I know for a fact she has family who can take her place if she dies. For now, let us focus of the threat that is harder to kill.” 

“I agree.” Solas said from his place leaning on the wall. 

Suddenly the door was slammed opened and a scout was looking at them all wide eyed, trying to catch their breath. Cole suddenly looked up from his feet and his voice was shaking and afraid, “ _ They took them _ .” 

“Took who?” Cullen asked tightly. 

“The babies and Abelas. They took them.” Cole said horrified. 

Fenris was out the door quick as lighting and Maraas was not far behind. 

******************************

The hills drew nearer. They made an undulating ridge, often rising almost to a thousand feet, and here and there falling again to low clefts or passes leading into the eastern and western lands beyond. Along the crest of the ridge the group could see what looked to be remains of green-grown walls and dikes, and in the clefts there stood the ruins of old works of stone. By night they had reached the feet of the westward slopes, and there they camped. It was the fifth night in the Emerald Graves and they were six days away from the road back to Skyhold. The half-bred babies cried loudly and often and Abelas tried to soothe them but to no avail. 

She was supporting a black eye and a broken wrist. The wrist that held the hand of the mark on her. She didn’t speak to any of her clan, no matter what they said to her. She only whispered to the babies to stop crying. They would be rescued soon. Finally, the woman missing her eye could no longer stand it. She stood up in anger from around the campfire and grabbed Abelas by her hair, shaking her as she yelled. 

“Shut up!  _ Shut up! _ ” she flung Abelas to the ground and stomped down on her marked hand. Abelas cried out, “ **We** are your family, not  _ them _ ! We are going back to the holy site and then we are leaving for the Free Marches! Those people will get their half-breed children back when we are safely on a boat away from here!” 

One of the men grabbed her and snapped, “Stop it. She is a child who has been far from us for too long. Leave her alone. Let her mourn.” 

“Did she mourn  _ us _ ?” the redhead asked from his place by the fire. 

Abelas got to her feet and back to the babies in their wicker baskets, moving the blankets around them to ward off the night chill. The woman turned to glare down at Abelas, “Well, did you mourn us?” 

Abelas said nothing, keeping her broken wrist tucked into her stomach and humming at the babies who sniffed and whimpered. They missed their mother and father. She understood that. 

The man who had stopped the angry woman before pushed her back toward the fire, “Go and sit down. We’re almost to the holy site. Two more days and then to the port.” The woman scoffed and sat down next to the redhead. The man shook his head and looked at Abelas, “You hungry?” 

Abelas shook her head no and the man went back to the fire as well. Abelas rested her hand on the edge of one wicker basket and kept her not-broken wrist on the other, letting her hand rest of the tiny stomach of one of the babies. Her hair was long enough once again to cover both of them. She let her eyes closed. They were looking for them. Fenris and Hawke wouldn’t stop until they had their babies back. And tama would come for her, and baba too. 

She missed them. The wind picked up a little and she curled tighter around the triplets. 

“Look,” one of the them said, “the winter solstice moon.” 

“Should it be red?” another asked. 

She looked up at the moon and it was indeed red. Suddenly it was very, very  _ silent _ . She felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise up and she snapped to her feet. Time had stopped. She looked around and everything was stopped, the dry bushes in the wind, the fire moving, even her clan had stood frozen in time. She looked down at the triplets. Still moving. 

She suddenly had an idea. A horrible idea that might get them killed, but an idea. She went over to one of the old halla, and touched it on the nose. It started moving again and she smiled. She threw a blanket on its back and hooked up the tiny cart, putting the babies in the cart and climbing onto the halla. She made it move onto the road and looked around. She didn’t know which way to go to get back to Skyhold but she knows that they passed a small town two days ago.

She knew which way that had been. She turned the halla toward it and off they went. As the moon stood frozen in place she suddenly felt him walking next to her. Falon’din. She didn’t look at him as she walked next to her. She kept the halla calm and moving. He had a smile in his voice, “What a nice night.” 

“I guess.” 

“You were born on a night like this. Not a red moon, but on the solstice.” 

“Was I?” she asked as she made the halla follow the dirt road. 

“Hmm. And the Emerald Graves once held the kingdom of my little brother.”

“Dirthamen.” 

“You are getting stronger. If you practice enough, you will be able to stop time at will. Like I used to be able to do.” 

Abelas finally looked at him. He walked at an easy gait next to her, arms tucked behind his back, “What am I?” 

“A little girl.” 

“No. I’m something else. Tell me what I am. Please?” 

Falon’din looked at her and then chuckled, looking up at the moon, “A child born to inherit an age. You are not the only one. You are just the only one who will come to be what I once was.” 

Abelas almost fell off the halla, “Who else?” 

“A boy. He will become Mythal. His mother did not want her birthright, so he shall get it instead. One of these little babies, I can feel Elgar’nan inside. A Qunari woman in Par Vollen has Ghilan'nain. Andruil has someone too. Fen’harel, but you already know that.” Falon’din said, “And, before I forget. Happy birthday.” 

“Thank you?” 

“The town will be hosting your friends when you get there. So you are aware.” 

Abelas smiled at him, “Thank you, Falon’din.” 

He looked down at her and smiled, sharp teeth and malice, “Tell my little brother I said hello too. He’s being a  _ brat _ .” 

Suddenly the wind picked up and the moon was setting as the sun rose. She held up her hand to block the light. She smiled. Abelas chuckled to herself. She was now  **seven** years old. All grown up. Happy birthday to her.

******************************

Only those who had a conduit had been asked to come. None of them wanted to the be first to speak. Finally, Ghilan'nain did. 

“Are we running out of time?” 

Andruil shook her head, “I don’t know.” 

“Solas will not make his move. Not yet.” Elgar’nan looked woozy. 

Flemeth nodded her head, “The Breach is still an issue. Until it is well and truly put to rest, Solas will wait. He isn’t that stupid.” 

“I fear we have to intervene in our conduits lives more than we already do. Abelas is about the same age as your grandson. They need to meet and form an alliance. The actions of the past can not come to pass again.” 

Flemeth chuckled, “You mean my getting murdered again? No. I would hope that is not in the cards. Dying is very hard on one's mental state.” 

“What do you propose then?” Ghilan’nain asked them. 

Falon’Din didn’t look at her, “Abelas has burnt the book of death, and has thus insured her own longevity. I have given her my staff of resurrection. All she needs now is my robe.” 

“So young?” Elgar’nan wondered. 

Flemeth did look at them when she answered, “Kiren shall soon be drinking from my Well of Sorrows. And I hid the robe for Falon’Din, long ago when he asked me to. One of my Sentials shall be giving it to Abelas when the both of them find it.” 

“Because Falon’Din saw it?” Andruil spat. 

Falon’Din looked at them with a bearing of his teeth, “I told you all about our death to Solas and no one listened. I have never been wrong in that regard.” 

Everyone hated it when he was right. 

************************

It was a shock when they got to the small village and Abelas was waiting for them with the triplets. Hawke was a weeping mess and Fenris was holding all of them. Abelas smiled at them and said, “I turned seven.”

Cullen hopped off his horse and scooped her up, pressing kisses into her cheeks. Maraas grabbed them both and swung them back and forth in a hug. Dorian looked at Bull, smirking, “All of this family loving is make me teary eyed.”

Abelas held tightly to her baba and tama and then looks up. Solas was watching her. She mouthed to him,,  _ Falon’Din says hello.  _

He jerked back and then ducked his head. Abelas closed her eyes.


	18. Adamant Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon’Din looked down at the mummy that had once been her. His little girl. He bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead, “I am so sorry, my sweet darling. I have ruined your life a thousand times over. All of this is my fault.”  
> “So you finally admit it?” His wife asked him, or at least her ghost did.  
> He stood tall and let the tears fall, “I have never denied it.”

Maraas let Hawke and her family rest for a week before she finally called on her to speak about what she knew, and her contacts within the Grey Wardens. Hawke was in the middle of nursing one of her triplets, when Maraas came to her. They spoke in length about what had been done, how she had “killed” Corypheus before the whole Kirkwall battle. Hawke left nothing out as they spoke and said that Stroud would know more than she would, but last she heard from him he had been in Crestwood. Which now posed a problem. Hawke was not even a month done from giving birth and she could not go with them with three kids on her back. Fenris was the one who said he would go in her place.

Which now meant that for the time being they had a plan. Of sorts. Crestwood had recently become the active site of a never ending rain storm, the walking dead, a very pissed off dragon, and several bandit bands. And red lyrium as well. As Orat put it—that was fucking great. It took them the better part of six months to clear the undead, frighten away the bandits, killed the dragon—which had resulted in a very drunk night from everyone—and had gotten rid of a few large chunks of lyrium. Meeting Stroud was not what any of them had been expecting.

He told them what he had found, who he knew was gone, and who had been pulling the strings. Dorian had thrown a fit _worthy_ of a dragon when he heard it was a man named Erramound. A magister he had known before leaving. As he said it, the man was tool. And happy to think himself bigger than he was. That in turn lead them to the desert and a chance meeting with the magister.

He got away but they knew where he was going thanks to Stroud. Adamant Fortress. Which then in turn lead them to building a plan of attack since the possibility of a demon army was too worrisome to ignore. Abelas in turn had become depressed since coming back, and she rarely spoke anymore. It made Cullen and Maraas worry but they would deal with it once they had dealt with the demon army. They moved the army out at the crack of dawn, and it took them three weeks to get there. They arrived at night and the Grey Wardens didn’t see them coming.

Falon’Din cooed in her ear, _Abelas, listen to me. This fight will not weaken this monster. But the dragon is the key._

They easily tore down the walls and stormed the castle. The Whole Inner Circle had come to fight and Abelas stayed with Cullen. Fenris and Stroud both helped them and then Abelas heard it. The dragon. It flew overhead and swooped down low. Cullen yelled a them shoot it down, kill it before it killed them. Abelas knew what she had to do.

_Abelas, don’t! You are not strong enough to kill it yet!_ ** _Abelas!_** Falon’Din screamed at her.

She ran through the whole fortress and passed the Inner Circle as she charged up to the top. Maraas called out to her. She kept going. She did not see that Cullen had followed her. In all of his armor and his sword drawn, he had chased after her and now ran with the others of the Inner Circle to stop her. Two people were fighting on the overhang lip of the fortress and Abelas ignored them. Abelas was only thinking about it was she was going to do. How she going to end this.

Falon’Din hovered in the air in front of her, _Abelas, don’t! This dragon is too powerful still. Let this fight end and come back. I promise all will be well. Please._

She hoped she could end this. She stood on the edge of the lip and looked up. She could see the shadow of the dragon flying in the nighttime clouds. Maraas and everyone came then, calling for her, and the dragon attacked. Abelas does not remember falling or opening the portal. But she does remember the pain of landing on her back and falling _again_ into a pool of water. As she got up she saw she was alone.

_Oh, Abelas. I did try to warn you, my sweet darling._

And in the Fade once more.

*******************

Fenris, Cullen and Stroud were standing perpendicular to the rest of them. Solas was in awe and Cole was afraid. Everyone else was in different states of anger, fear, and something else. Maraas looked around her and noticed that Abelas was not with them. She called out for her and no answer came. She called again and again and again. No answer came to her.

The others began to call as well and then suddenly, a woman was in front of them. Maraas lifted her fist to hit her and the woman just smiled.

“Abelas is well.”

Maraas grabbed the woman by the front of her robes, “Who are you?”

“That,” Cullen said as he removed her hands slowly, “is Divine Justina.”

“Who is dead.” Fenris said with a scowl. He was glowing like a torch. Due to the magic hovering like a fog around them.

Orta frowned, “So we are in the Fade. How the fuck do we get out?”

“Abelas got you here, she can get you home.” The Divine told them.  

Damen looked around, “Assuming we can _find_ her. The Fade is a big place.”

“And full of danger both familiar and unknown.” Solas said as he looked off in the distance, “Which now begs the question; what awaits us if we look for her?”

The Divine bowed her head, “The demon of nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” Stroud asked her as something far off in the distance gave a roar.

The Divine chuckled, “It was once a spirit of courage, once, trying to curb the fear it found in others. But it soon grew fat on the fear and its purpose turned to feeding itself instead of helping overcome fear.”

“We have to leave this place, Maraas. Quickly. The longer we stay the greater the risk we run of becoming possessed.” Vivienne sniffed.

The Divine pointed beyond her, “That way leads to the Nightmare. But I warn you, the Fade has long since grown sinister. Try to stay together, for apart, you are even weaker.”

“Poor, Abelas. Out there alone.” Blackwall said with a stern look upon his face.

The Divine shook her head sadly, “Abelas will survive this. I can not promise you will. Be quick now, time grows short.”

They all looked at each other and frowned. They left anyway. Dorian shook off the much from his shoes each time they found an island and told him about the last time he had been in the Fade. It didn’t look anything like this. Maraas kept looking around and calling for Abelas. No one answered. It made her so very afraid.

Abelas. Abelas. Abelas. Abelas. Her voice echoed. And echoed. And echoed.

No one answered her.

*******************

Someone had died on this throne she had found. She didn’t know why she knew that. But she could see it. A woman so beautiful it could bring you to tears, with a knife in her heart and her eyes plucked out. She had known that woman. She wiped away the tears on her face and almost jumped out of her skin as Falon’Din passed her. He touched the throne with one gentle hand and looked down at it in mourning.

He bowed his head.

“Were you...were you two close?”

Falon’Din turned to her, and she saw not the God of Death but a man crying, his face red and painful to see the sorrow on his face. He looked once more at the throne, “She died because I loved her. She died because of me.”

“Did...did you kill her?”

“No.” Falon’Din sighed, “No one knows who killed her. Not even The Fade can remember who killed her. But I know why she was killed.”

Abelas came to stand before the throne, “You loved her, Mythal right? That’s why she died?”

“Mythal was already married.” Falon’Din chuckled dryly, “But she and Elgar’nan had long since grown apart. She and I just...think of your Tama and Baba. It was like that. An unlikely pairing that just made sense to us, even if it never made sense to others.”

“Oh.” Abelas said and held her once broken wrist and looked around, “I wanna go home.”

Falon’Din had an odd look on his face as he said, “Alright.”

*********

The voice from above them was not _evil_ but it held no warmth or anything human in it either. It sounded too other to be anything else but this “Nightmare” demon they had been warned about. All of them drew their weapons as the voice laughed at them before speaking. And it _was_ speaking to all of them. They all pressed their back to each other and looked around. They knew a fight was coming for them. It was always coming for them.

“Perhaps I should be afraid. Facing the most _powerful_ members of the Inquisition.”

Maraas scowled up at the sky, “Keep moving. We have to find her and leave. The demon army has been stopped and we need to make sure she hasn’t died.”

“She has survived worse, Maraas.” Cullen told her as they all began to make their way down a flight of stone steps.

The Nightmare chuckled again and then sighed at the end of it—as though it has just heard a very funny joke—before speaking again, “Like Blackwall. Ah, there’s nothing like a Grey Warden. And you are _nothing_ like a Grey Warden.”  

“I’ll show you a Warden’s strength, beast.” Blackwall spat.

Suddenly the floor was gone and all of them fell down and into a pit of water. When all of them dragged themselves onto land, they were alone. Alone and afraid.

*********

Orta cursed under her breath as she kept to the stone wall she had been following. She kept making marks on the stone so she would know if she had been the same way twice. So far, it had been a lot of walking and fighting demons. The walking she could deal with since the cries and whispers of the dead she had blocked out. As she came upon a flight of stairs she took them up and found a broken mirror at the top. The Nightmare talking made her flinch and take a defensive stance as she turned slowly—looking up at the sky.

“Orta Rose Weiss Cadash. What would your mother say if she could see you now?” The Nightmare laughed at her.

What would her mother say to her if she saw her now? She remembers what her mother said when she had left. Her mother had told her that was so disappointed in her. That didn’t she care about her family? Their honor? What self respecting dwarf didn’t marry within her caste? Her mother had never raised her voice and even on that day, she hadn’t yelled.

She had spoke softly and wept loudly. Her father hadn’t even looked at her. Her sister had waved her goodbye, had said she loved her no matter what. Her little sister had been what her family wanted in a duaghter. Not her. Orta didn’t care. She knew who she was and what she liked.

It would be a cold day in the Fade when she regretted her choice. Well—the Fade was always cold. She knew that now. She gripped her dagger tight in her hand. The metal bite down into the leather and pressed into her palm. It grounded her. She took a deep breath and made her heart steady itself.

“Do you really want that list? It’s way too long to get through in one day.” Orta snapped as she kept moving. She needed to find the others and get out. She had to get out. She had to.

***************

The Nightmare cooed at him as he used the shadows to quickly move around and look for the others, “Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like how you help other people. We are very much alike, you and I.”

He was busy fighting demons as he rounded the next corner and the Nightmare demon kept laughing at him. Laughing and mocking him. Forget. The word kept moving around inside of his head and smashing into brain. He jumped and flipped over one demon to stab another in the eyes. It fell with a cry. Forget.

What about Rhys? What about Evangeline? He had worked so hard to _remember_ them and now The Nightmare offered him what he always feared. Forget. If he forgot then he would die of despair. He only wanted to help people. That is all he has _ever_ wanted was to help people.

Forget. If people forgot what made the sad or angry or hurt then their lives would be easier. Life was easier when nothing was on your mind. Forget. He didn’t want that. He couldn’t want that. He had to help people.

Forget. No. No. He had to find the others and get back to Skyhold to help everyone. He had been allowed to stay because Abelas believed in him. Solas believed in him. Even Vivienne liked him.

When she forgot to hate him, she liked him well enough. And Dorian needed so much help with his father. Iron Bull was afraid of demons and had promised to put an end to Cole if he ever became a killer again. He had friends. He didn’t want to forget. If he forget then everyone would be gone. They were his friends.

He didn’t want to forget them.

“No.” he whispered and kept going.

****************

“Dirth ma, Harellan. Ma banal Enasalin. Mar Solas ena mar din.” The Nightmare hissed at him as he walked with his head held high. He would not die alone here. But if he did, he would want his companions to be around him. Death wasn’t as scary if your loved ones surrounded you. He had no more loved ones, but he would like his friends.

As he struck down a Pride Demon with a spell he sneered at The Nightmare perched above him, “Banal nadas.”

*****************

“Magister Treyvellan, how nice to meet you once again. How have you been sleeping? Or should I ask Dorian and the Qunari?” The Nightmare laughed. Damen gave the sky above him the evil eye and picked his way over loose rocks near stagnant water. He had been here too often to fear it now. He knew these tricks and none of them fooled him anymore.

The Nightmare made a noise as though to keep talking and he snapped at it.

“Why? Are you looking for tips on how to keep a lover?”

Silence.

He was too old for this, and he had to keep moving.

***********************

“The Qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions Or maybe **I’ll** ride his body myself.” The Nightmare said loudly. Most likely mocking the others near him. Bull wiped the blood from his face. He could feel the blood lust rising inside of him. He had to focus.

If he went mad here, there would be no _going back_ to Skyhold for him. He would try to kill everyone he knew and loved. But he would start with his loved ones first. Dorian and Damen would never see it coming. Dorian might. Damen? Damen would let him wrap his hand around his throat and kill him.

He was too trusting of Qunari. Maraas had never fallen to the madness. She was stronger than him. He wasn’t built to last. But fuck this thing for making him think like this at all. And Maraas with her choices. He would chose wrong every time and he knew that

He muttered, “I’d like to see you try.”

***********

The Fade had always been a place she had never liked to visit. It was akin to a leper colony to her. The Fade was the place from where her power came from, but it was always the source of all the destruction caused by _any_ mage. It was the source of nightmares and dreams alike. It was the reason she had been taken from home as a child and sent into a circle to master her gifts. She had beaten every test thrown at her. She had navigated The Great Game and had never lost any fight she had when dealing with the nobility.

She had always told herself that no one could make her feel _lesser_ if she did not allow it. And she never allowed it. She was Vivienne, The Grand Enchanter to the Crown. The Last Loyal Mages answered to her. She had never not been less than powerful. And The Fade did not frighten her, because she had battled every demon it had seen fit to throw at her, and she had come out on top. As she walked through the foul green water and waved away the stink of the miasma she heard The Nightmare chortle.

And she almost ran face first into Cole. He hugged her tightly and said he would protect her. She rolled her eyes and shoved him away. Cole wrung his hands in front of him as he stood before her, eyes darting around.

“Are you alright, Vivienne?” he seemed to whimper. She kept walking and he followed after her. She found a grand staircase falling into ruin and took it. Cole jumped some of the steps to keep up with her stride.

She looked at the boy out of the corner of her eye, “I am fine, darling. The Fade holds no secrets for me.”

The Nightmare let out a high pitched laugh and Cole ducked behind her, holding onto her clothing. She scoffed and kept walking. It reminded her of all the fools Bastien had talked circles around. Thinking itself so powerful when it was only powerful because others _allowed_ it to be. The voice seemed to slink like a cat into her ear, “What’s it like living as an apostate, Vivienne? Do you really think you’ll reclaim power in the circle..at _your_ age?”

“Not one word.” she said slowly.

Cole nodded his head, “I wasn’t going to say anything, Vivienne. But I don’t think you irrelevant. I think you brave.”

That made her almost falter in her steps, “I do not need the _reassurances_ of a demon.”

“What about a friend?”

The Nightmare laughed.

**************

The Fade had made itself to what she had wanted to see. What she had missed. Par Vollen looked just as she remembered it. The streets were interlocking cobblestone and each street had four high torches to light her way. The cleaning crew is out, and it is night. The heat is more bearable and she can smell the yeast when she passes the bakers. An early start to the day.

But the shadows ruin the illusions. They have no faces and when their mouths open it is a gaping void that crackles like lighting. Their voices sound like they are coming from several rooms over and mixing several languages together. She ignores them. Suddenly she sees her. Abelas. Runs through the illusion, looking over her shoulder and she is not a shadow.

She is _real_ and she screams as a headless demon chases after her. Maraas gives chase and calls out for her. Her voice echoes in The Fade. And it echoes back mockingly. Abelas. Abelas. Abelas.

The demon stops to fight her. Abelas keeps running. The demon cracks stone under its fist as she dodges and she knows that if it lands a blow she will die here. So she fights dirty. She uses the end of her sword to stab it in the chest, throws it when she can. Her nails leave bloody rivers on its wrinkled leather like flesh. It has no head or mouth to scream, but it does anyway.

As it finally falls down dead, it has ripped out a few patches of hair and has sprained her ankle. She breathes hard and heavy, trying to slow her heart. Abelas. She limps the way she saw her go and finds herself once more in the nursery of Par Vollen where she had kept her charges. A room to hold thirty and each one sitting or standing by the bed is Abelas. And each one is dead. Dead in the way all of her other children had died.

Mage fire. Drowned. Battle wounds from the Fog Warriors and her own country men. They hadn’t gotten out of the way in time. She glares at them and turns to leave. There is no door. Abelas giggles.

She looks at them. They all give her mocking smiles.

“Abelas. Where is she?”

The laugh, “Around.”

“I am leaving.”

“You can’t. Not unless....”

“Speak, demon.”

“We have to die.”

She grits her teeth. These things are not Abelas. They do not cry or scream as she slices through them. The room fades away and she stands alone atop a cliff face. She wipes at her eyes. They water but she can not cry. Not here.

She tries once more. Only her own voice mocking answers her. Abelas. Abelas. Abelas. She limps away from the cliff edge. She has to find the others and Abelas.

Once they were all together, they could think of a plan. They could leave The Fade. Abelas had been here, and more than once. Had she been afraid? Had she been chased by demons? Maraas was getting tired and she knew that _this_ what The Nightmare wanted. It wanted them weak and scared. He wanted Abelas scared because then they would never be able to leave.

And if they didn’t leave then the demon army would ravage the world. Abelas was going to save the world. And to save it, she had to be on the other side of The Fade. Maraas was going to get her there. Abelas was going home, even if she left without them. Abelas would finish this, and if they had to stay behind to make sure of that, that the world was saved, then so be it. Abelas was there only hope.

“Maraas. _Maraas.”_ The Nightmare cooed down to her as she limped away, “I think it funny that the name you chose once you had freedom from the Qun means **nothing** . Is it because you understand _you_ are nothing or because without having so many little minds waiting for you to **corrupt** them you feel nothing? I am curious.”

Maraas smiles as she walks, “I am curious as to what your heart will look like when I rip it out. If you have one, I assume.”

**********

“Greetings, Dorian. It is, _Dorian_ , isn’t it? For a moment I mistook you for your father.” The Nightmare snickered. Dorian had been sent to his hell which was—oddly enough and also funnily enough—his own personal heaven. Every man he had wanted to spend his life with had waltzed by him as naked as the last time he had seen them before they had broken his heart. Each one had been waved away. He knew a temptation demon when he saw one. The sad part was he still remembered all of their names.

Derek. He had been a sweet man who like to chew mint and play the flute. He had been a darker brown than Dorian and his hair had been tied up into rows that looked like fields of corn. Derek had been with him for two years while they had been in school. Then his mother had told him that Derek was getting married at the end of the school year. A pretty girl from a good family who was white as snow and hair like fire. Derek had told Dorian they would still be them and then the school year ended and they were nothing.

Not even friends. Dorian had thirteen. Samuel had been a fisherman with rough hands and a rough voice. He had been blonde and blue and smelled like the sea. He and Dorian had been good drinking buddies and good lovers. But when Dorian asked for more, he had scoffed and said no. He had been a married man with a wife and child back in Rivaini.

He had been thirty and Dorian had been sixteen. Michael had been his oldest lover and the one to teach him all of the tricks he had learned to being a necromancer. At fifty-eight, he had never married and had taken Dorian in as his apprentice. He had died once Dorian had passed his Harrowing. It was the saddest and proudest day of his life. Sad because his lover had passed and proud because his father had been there to watch him and had been _proud_ of him. One of the few times in his life.

Dorian had been eighteen and had been heart sick for a long time before his next lover. Gordon, who had been in his military squad when they had to serve their mandatory year of service. A lot of men were like them and no one said anything. When death is awaiting you, who you sleep with is no longer important. Gordon had stayed in the service because he had not wanted to go back to his old life. His little sister had taken his place and his seat in the Senate. Dorian had been twenty-one when he got back.

Alexander had been a whore at the place he liked to drink. They hadn’t lasted long. Dorian had been forced to move on at twenty-five. Aaron had been his for two years and then he had left. Gabriel had lasted a year. Jackson had gotten sick of him at six months. Kenneth had tapped out at three. At the one month marker, Howard had called it quits as well.

Raphael had barely lasted a week and then Dorian was twenty-six.  

Rilienus.

That one hurt the most. Because that demon whispered that Damen and Bull would leave just like him. And he had left a scar on his heart. It was such a temptation to go back to the ones he had loved with all of his heart. To go back to Rilienus. He rolled his eyes as The Nightmare spoke.

This would not break him. Not even his _father_ had been able to break him.

“Rather uncalled for.” he told it as he kept looking for the others.

***********

She mutters her prayers as she fights and speaks them loudly as she walks with her head held high. The demon flinch when she screams them as though her words truly hurt them. Good. She hopes they do hurt them. The Nightmare laughs when she pauses for breath. It laughs every time she pauses for breath. She has gotten good at ignoring it.

That is until it _talks_ to her. She must have been wandering for hours and this is the first time it has spoken to her at all. She glares up at the green fogged sky. The Fade is cold and green. As though it is dying by some infection. She prays it is. Maybe then the demons will all die.

It’s voice is snide and snappish, “Your Herald is a **fraud** , Cassandra. Yet more evident there is _no_ Maker, that all your “faith” has been for naught.”

“Die in the Void, demon.” she hisses.

*************

He has not worn so much armor in a long time. It makes his shirt cling to his sweaty back under the armor and it chaffs along his neck. Near the metal. He still marches on because he is _not_ leaving without his people. He is not leaving without his _daughter_ and any demon standing in the way of that will meet a swift end. The Nightmare suddenly speaking makes him flinch. He almost wishes for his vice. At least then he would be brave enough to be to forgot to be afraid.

“Commander Cullen. Or should I call you Knight Commander? Or maybe _stalker_ ? I wonder what your family would think about you if they knew what you thought about that mage girl in the circle. Would _she_ think less of you? Would _Abelas_ think less of you?”

The Nightmare is hoping to cut him deep. But Cullen has done that to himself everyday. He does not deserve the love and adoration of that little girl. He should look at Maraas and feel what he feels. He should not read her stories to put her to sleep or soothe away the nightmares when Maraas is gone and can’t. He should not bow and blush when Maraas speaks to him or smiles at him. He should not let his mind wander to a life where they are all happy together and none of _this_ is happening to them.

Abelas would be a normal little girl. She would grow up and marry someone and have control of her magic. He might have a child of his own with Maraas, a son or daughter that would call him daddy just like Abelas did. A life where he has a wife, a child, a home with a dog and no crippling addiction. A life he knows he does not deserve for what he has done. The Nightmare can mock him, but it can’t hurt him. He is the master of doing that to himself.

“I know what they think of you and they couldn’t possibly think any _less_.”

**************

Sera had found Vivienne, Cole and Blackwall. Which was good because she was sick of being here. Together they had found Damen. Bull had almost killed Blackwall coming around the corner and Dorian had found them on his own. Orta had literally fallen on her. So far so good. Now all they need to do was find Maraas, Cullen, Varric, Fenris, Stroud and Abelas.

Each of them except her had been mocked by The Nightmare. No one else ducked their head when they heard it laugh. And no one else started to jump from foot to foot. Everyone else just glared up at the sky. She _really_ wanted to shoot an arrow. Demons could die so this had to die. It had to die too.

Everything died.

Right?  

“Sera, Sera, Sera~. If you shoot an arrow at me, I’ll know where you are.” The Nightmare said to his in a sing-songy tune

Sera shook her head and pulled on her hair, “Out of my head bitch-balls!”

Hearing Varric say, “Calm down. You’re voice will wake the dead.” Well, that was wonderful. Everyone was now thinking of how to find the others. According to Solas The Fade was as big as the whole world. Which now raised the question that if the part of The Fade they had fallen into had been The Western Approach, then where were they now? There was no way of knowing where.

Solas almost scared Bull into cutting his head off. Solas said that they had not gone far from where they had been.

“So, then, we should be able to get back to Adamant?” Orta asked with a raised eyebrow.

Solas nodded his head, “Assuming we can find Abelas.”

“Like we would leave her here.” Blackwal sneered.

Vivienne looked at him, “Solas does not mean we are leaving her here. But if she is dead, then we should no longer need to worry about going back to Adamant.”

“She’s not dead.” Cole said softly.

Damen sat down next to Dorian on a rock, and leaned his head on Bulls’ leg, “Abelas will be fine. Demon are afraid of her. She’s probably just wandering around looking for us.”

“And if that is the case, “ Dorian said as he crossed his legs to rub at his calf, “then she is most likely trying to climb over rocks and not _drown_ in any of this foul water.”

“And Maraas and Cullen won’t ever leave without her.” Bull grumbled.

Solas looked to the sky, “The golden city is not far from here. Abelas may have landed there and will meet us where The Nightmare lies waiting.”

The Nightmare—as though it has been waiting to be once more acknowledged—had chosen its next victim. All of them looked up as it spoke, “Once again, Hawke is in danger because of _you_ , Varric. _You_ found the red lyrium. _You_ brought Hawke here.”

“Just keep talking, Smiley.” Varric said with a smile.

They all kept moving.

**************

Stroud and Fenris had found each other after the first hour of fighting demons. Fenris had been calm and Stroud had just wanted to keep moving. It wasn’t until they heard the other talking that they picked up their pace. Which is why when they had all met up The Nightmare decided to start picking them again. And it had chosen to pick on Stroud. Stroud didn’t even look up, in fact, he kept walking. Everyone else was impressed.

“Warden Stroud.” The Nightmare drawled, “How must it feel to devote your _whole_ life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or worse? To know that _you_ were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?”

“With the Makers’ blessing, we will end this wretched  beast.” Stroud said stiffly.

It seemed that the sudden bravery had set The Nightmare off, as more demons came at them. And all of them looked like spiders. At least to Orta. Everyone else saw something different. In the middle of the fight, Cullen and Maraas came charging in. Once the bloody battle was done they all caught their breath. Maraas and Cullen had hopeful looks on their faces, but it was quickly smashed when they that Abelas was not with them.

As they all took stock of their wounds—Damen healing the sprain on Maraas—and tried to come up with a plan. It was Solas who had the idea. The Golden City itself, now corrupt and in ruins, might hold Abelas. All children have a habit of staying put when they are truly scared. And Abelas had been in a bad place before they had even left for Adamant. Which then brought up a question by Cullen.

“Why the Golden City? Is that not where the seat of The Maker is said to reside?”

Solas looked at him and then looked back to the city in the distance, “Abelas is...something more than all of us. The Fade would have sent her to where it would have thought she belonged. The Golden City is where a seat of power resides.”

“So, how far away is that?” Dorian huffed.

“You have to _want_ to be there.” Cole told them as he kicked his foot on the dirt, “Abelas doesn’t know how to do that yet. She’s still learning.”

“I just have to _want_ to find her?” Maraas snapped, “Is that true, Solas?”

“Yes.” Solas muttered, “But I can not promise you will like what you find.”

Maraas looked to the city and whispered, “Abelas.”

She was gone.

Cullen grabbed Solas by the shoulder, “She’ll come back?”

“We shall see. The Golden City was once a paradise. But now? I don’t know if it is simply abandoned or if it has turned into hell.”

The Nightmare laughed so loudly the ground shook. They had almost forgotten about it. Cullen sneered and folded his arms, “And what shall we do with that?”

Cassandra sat down with her back to a cliff face, “Wait for Maraas and Abelas. Once the battle with that thing is done, we will need to leave.”

“Assuming we win” Fenris said with a scoff.

The Nightmare is seemed had also almost forgotten about its mocking. And Fenris was its next victim. Fenris did not look impressed at all.

“Did you think you _mattered_ , Fenris? Did you think that anything you _ever_ did mattered? Not even with your support could Hawke save her city. How do you expect to strike down a God? Hawke is going to **die** , just like everyone else you’ve cared about.”

Fenris chuckled and sat down next to Cassandra with a sigh, “Well, this thing talks more than Anders.”

***************

Falon’Din walks with her and points out things as they walk. The thrones each of them had once sat at. It was like a council. The city once had clear running water but now it was a reddish brown puddles at the bottom of once deep channels. The greenery had long ago died and only their skeletons remained. Abelas had stopped at each crumbling statue and mural, looking at it. She had faded memories of them. Falon’Din didn’t have any memories that were clearer than her own. He only remembered his little brother in crystal clarity and Mythal. But her memory was tinted blue and red and a deep blackness at the edges. Once it had been tinted yellow and pink but time and grief had changed the colors. Abelas understands. She stops to sit on a flight of stairs covered in fallen and crinkled leaves. Falon’Din stands in front of her at eye level and then he looks past her.

“Fen’harel.”

She turns and there he is. He stands at the top of the stairs, his hands balled into fist and tears falling down his cheeks under the wolf mask. She stood up as well, her balance wobbly at best. She bowed her head, “Fen’harel.”

“Falon’Din, what are two still doing here?!” Fen’harel snapped as he stomped down the stairs, “Or are you dawdling to show her the ruin of our pride?”

“She has a right—” Falon’Din started but Fen’harel tackled him down the stairs. They tumbled all the way down and Fen’harel ended up on top, and he slapped Falon’Din with wide arches, coming down at angles.

“What right does she have?! What right does she have to pick up the whip I tried to burn? You would have her become the next generation of slave owners?!” Fen’harel shrieked. Abelas gripped her pants tightly. Fen’harel stopped slapping Falon’Din and looked up at her. He jumped to his feet and stormed up the steps, grabbing her by the upper arm and dragging her with him, “Let me **show** you; I’ll show you what **we** did.”  

He dragged her to a large round room like the one Solas used back in Skyhold and he smacked his hands together and the room was suddenly different. No longer falling into ruin but bright and full of life. Al of the Elvhen Gods sat evenly spaced around the room in their own lavish seats. Abelas watched. Elgar’nan stood and came to the middle of the room. His voice echoed and carried and everyone could hear him.

_“The issue on the table: a petition from a delegation calling on Congress to end the slave trade and abolish slavery, in all its forms. This petition was written and signed by June; it cannot go ignored. If this comes to a vote in Congress, what is the House's position? Falon’Din, you first._ **_Tread lightly._ ** _”_

_Falon’Din stood from his seat as Elgar’nan went back to his own. He smoothed out his cloak and he swept his arm toward Elgar’nan, “Sir. The constitution clearly states that the states have to wait until the Library of Knowledge that Dirthamen is making is done to debate on whether to end the slave trade. And whether or not you want it, that is the final compromise we made, eons ago.”_

_“Sir, wait—” Fen’harel said as he tried to leave his seat. Falon’Din turned to him with a hand raised and kept going._

_“But for a second, let us say that we can legislate unanimous emancipation. Freedom reigns, and yes, it's great. We cannot cure prejudice or righteous, desperate hate for those born with magic against those born_ without _it. So back to beyond the Veil or do they get a separate state? I tried to float banning slavery in the West. My notion didn't get a single vote. Slavery's a sin that is true. It's growing like a cancer before our eyes. But we can't address a question if we do not have an_ answer _.”_

_With that he took his seat next to his brother. Fen’harel jumped up and came to stand in the middle of the room, “Is it my turn?” Elgar’nan nodded and Fen’harel gave Falon’Din a wolfish smile, “Good. Plantation states are packed with promise makers. Do you realize the precious time these legislators wasted? Institutionalizing slavery only multiplies our troubles. Wait till the Library, and their population_ **_doubles_ ** _._

_“You all know this is the stain on our souls. A land of the free, for who? No, it's not freedom to anyone except us; it's hypocrisy to subjugate and dehumanize a race, and call them property and say that we are powerless to stop it. Can you not foresee? Sir, even you,” Fen’harel said and pointed at Elgar’nan who narrowed his eyes at Fen’harel, “you have_ hundreds _of slaves whose descendants will curse our_ names _when we're safe in our graves. How will the West find labor for its businesses? How will Falon’Din find his next mistresses?”_

_Falon’Din seemed to glow with his anger as he gripped the armrests, his voice demonic as he spoke, “How_ **_dare_ ** _you—”_

_“Yet still, people follow like lemmings. All your hemming and hawing, while you're hee-hawing with—” Fen’harel said with a sneer and then Elgar’nan yelled from his seat._

_“That's enough!”_

_Fen’harel looked down at his feet and walked slowly back to his chair, “Well you asked how I feel. I don't pretend to know the answer, but the_ **_question_ ** _is real.”_

_Dirthamen raised his hand. Mythal turned to look at him, “Yes? Dirthamen?”_

_“If I may, All Father?”_

_Elgar’nan looked at him and nodded his head, “Dirthamen?”_

_“Let's take this moment to establish a precedent.” he said as he stood but did not go to the middle of the room, “First of all, sir, we won't involve you in this. Imagine this debate with_ all _of Congress; it's ruinous. I'll reassure the West, the completion of the Library is still the year that was agreed upon. That buys us time and assuages fear. I'll tell the North that on the first of that year, we'll ban importation, handling the worst of it. Once I get all this agreed upon, I'll pick up a pen and introduce a motion_ never _to discuss this again.”_

_“Elgar’nan!” Fen’harel huffed, offended._

_“Fen’harel,” Elgar’nan sighed and rubbed his face with one hand before using to gesture as he spoke, “if we support emancipation every single slave owner will demand compensation. And as for slandering Falon’Din with talk of mistresses do you really want to have that conversation?”_

_Fen’harel turned his head away and grit out through his teeth, “No.”_

_“Dirthamen,” Mythal sighed and waved her hand as though the conversation was boring to her, “execute your plan to the letter. Let's hope the next generation thinks of_ something _better.”_

Abelas wiped her eyes to get rid of the tears. She felt Fen’harel grab her shoulders, and get down on both of his knees to speak to her, “Do you see? I **had** to stop him. I have to _stop_ you.”

“Why?” she hiccuped, “What did I do?”

Falon’Din hovered near the entrance and finally spoke, “My greatest triumph. One that not even my little brother could stop.”

“What?” Abelas sniffled.

“Do you want to know why you’re so smart, Abelas?” Fen’harel hissed, “Because he _made_ you to be the greatest weapon he had ever created. A being who could live its life— _over_ and **over** and **_over_ ** —again and not die. Upon its own birth its old self would die a soulless husk. Until it had gained enough power and knowledge through the years to become real. To become _you_ . Because once I banished him, he saw his way out and oh, how he has **waited** . You don’t talk like a child, because you are **not** a child. You think like an adult because you **are** an adult. And you will soon grow up to be. **Just** . _Like_ . **_Him_ **.”

The cruel laugh from the sky had them all looking up. Abelas hugged herself.

The Nightmare sneered, “Abelas, First of her name and Inheritor of Death. The Mother of the downtrodden, the would be Herald of Andraste. The Twilight Child of Ruin. What should I feel—standing before such greatness? I assume _fear_ would be the best choice. Only a fool is unafraid of Death.”

“Shut up. I’m going home.” she yelled as she began to hiccup, trying to hold back her sobs.

“Oh, sweet darling. You _are_ home.” Falon’Din whispered. She screamed.

“Abelas!” Maraas called out and suddenly Abelas was wrapped in her arms, and she kept sobbing. Maraas smoothed her hair, and hushed her, “I’m here. I’m here.”

“Please, Tama. I wanna go home.”

*******************

Fen’harel bared his teeth in a snarl as he paced around the once immaculate congress room. Falon’Din watched him from his former chair, wiping under his nose and looking at the golden blood that his little brother had drawn from him. They watched as Maraas comforted Abelas, unseen by them. Fen’harel kept clenching and unclenching his hands, huffing as he tried to calm himself. Falon’Din shook his head.

“Did you have to be so cruel to her, Solas?” he asked his little brother as soft as silk.

Fen’harel snapped his head to glare at him—yanking his mask off and throwing it on the ground—his eyes glowing in the dim light, “So I could lie to her like _you_ do?”

Falon’Din sighed, “I wasn’t lying. What would you have me tell her? How I twisted her soul into something dark and cruel because of who I used to be? How I was the master of pushing you into _this?”_

“I wasn’t pushed—”

“Solas,” Falon’Din rubbed at a sore spot on his head where his hair had been grabbed and torn out, “please. I m tired of _fighting_ you. I am tired of paying for a mistake I regret everyday. But mostly, I am _tired_ because all of my plans to make our lives easier and our world better; they ending up killing us and our people. And I will _never_ atone for that. So tell me what you want.”

“What I want?” Solas chuckled and then stopped pacing, looking down at the bloody half moons on his palms, “I want _—_ she died. _You_ could see every possible future, you could have brought her **back**. And you didn’t. I wanted her ideal of the world.”

Falon’Din titled his head to lean it on his hand and looked to Abelas as she used her sleeve to wipe away the snot and tears that had collected on her face, and muttered to himself, “They stab it with their knives but they just can’t kill the beast.” He then looked to Solas as he rubbed the back of his neck, and crossed his legs before addressing him fully, “We were working toward that world, Solas. At some point you must have come to the same realization as the rest of us.”

Solas rubbed at his face and then sluggishly went to his own seat, sighing heavily as he flopped down into it, “Humor me.”

“Power because its own abuser at some point. We had so many _ideas_ on what it we wanted to do and how to help our people and we just…”

“We fell apart.” Solas muttered and then turned his head to look at Falon’Din, “What in the blackest fuck were you thinking when you made her?”

Falon’Din watched as Maraas picked Abelas up and the girl wrapped around her caretaker with her whole body. Her face hidden in her shoulder and her sobs muffled. He watched as they left and then looked at Solas, “I guess I was lonely.”

“That’s a shitty reason and you know it.” Solas snapped and stood. He had to get back before the other noted his absence, “Other than Mythal, our people loved _you_ more than anyone else. The man who kept them immortal forever.”

“Until we wanted to take it away.” Falon’Din said with self hating smile. Solas scoffed and picked up his mask as he passed it.

He didn’t turn around as he told his older brother, “We all pay for our mistakes, Falon’Din. Maybe the reason you did what did because you can never forgive _yourself.”_

“And maybe you did what you did because you were chasing the love of those without magic who made you feel wanted.”

Solas turned to snap at him but he was gone. And Solas had to leave.

*******************

The Nightmare was the thing they feared the most and it had grown fat on it own gluttony. It laughed at them the moment it trapped them in its web and Maraas pushed Abelas behind her, drawing her weapon. Behind it they could see Adamant and the Grey Warden nursing their wounds beyond it. It was at the top of a small incline about fifteen feet away and the the literal thing of nightmares stood between them and their freedom. Abelas hung her head as The Nightmare belittled them, telling them that this was where they died. She felt too big for her skin and it _hurt_ to listen to The Nightmare talk.

She felt Falon’Din pacing behind her, looking up at the demon before them and she felt that he was unimpressed with what he saw. She tugged on her hair and wished she had taken Mr. Gold with her. He didn’t mind if she hugged him too tight. The Nightmare turned it gaze to her and as she looked up at it she saw Falon’Din. She had seen him this large once before and she left no fear in facing it at this height. She held her head high as it gave her a condescending smile. She sneered at it.

“Abelas, Abelas, Abelas.” it chuckled, “How the mighty have **fallen** . So small and young _now._ I remember when you were an unholy terror running through The Fade. I had to take away the fear of _you_ in those days. And now here you are, feeding me with _your_ fear.”

Abelas looked down at her feet, “I’m not afraid of _you_ . I’m afraid that everyone will die here. Because of _me_.”

The Nightmare let out a loud laugh that developed into a snort, “People _have_ died because of you. Or did he not tell you that? I would have thought that Fen’harel would have been petty enough to do so.”

She felt her anger rise and her skin felt like it was cracking. She snapped her head to look at it and took several sure footed steps toward it, “Maybe you’ll die because of me.”

“You think you frighten me girl?”

“You will be afraid of me.”

The Nightmare shook its head and spread its arms, “Enlighten me as to why I will, girl.”

“Because,” Abelas growled, “I’m not stuck in here with _you._ You’re stuck in here with _me._ And I don’t like this game anymore!”  

No one would ever be able to explain what they saw. Only that Abelas truly **_glowed_ ** and what she summoned around her was a thing that could fight the demon on equal footing. She pushed it out of the way of the portal and a voice none of them knew told them to run and leave. Maraas and Cullen hovered at the portal to watch the fight and Bull had to pull them both through. And then it shut and Maraas howled in pain. Everyone looked away as Cullen tried to soothe her, his own voice cracking. Abelas was on the other side of the Veil.  

*******************

The Nightmare wheezed at her feet, a tiny ball of black mass that glowed with its own inner light. She was tired and flopped down to the ground beside it. The Nightmare seemed to be watching her. She wiped the blood from under her nose and looked at it. Gold. She buried her face in her arms and pulled her knees close to her. The Nightmare soon grew quiet.

“Did it hurt?” it asked.

Her voice was muffled, “Did what hurt?”

“Becoming you. Again. Did it hurt?”

Abelas lifted her head to look at the spot the portal had been in, “No. It felt right. Like when shoes fit. But...I’m confused. And scared.”

“I know.” it said sadly, “I know what it is like to become you and then have the fear of becoming something _else._ I always said I never would and yet here we are.”

“I don’t want to be how I used to be before being the me I am right now.” Abelas looked down at The Nightmare, “I just want my own life.”

“No one was their _own_ life. And when they do _—_ when they are truly alone _—_ they turn their noble minds to sinister purpose.”

“Like Falon’Din.” she said with a sulk.

The Nightmare seemed to crawl closer to her and placed one ghostly wisp of itself on her hand, “Like all of them.”

“Even Mythal?”

The Nightmare seemed to nods its head, “Even her. I was alive when they were and I survived when they were gone. All of them were young _—_ a little older than you are right now _—_ but young and they were so full of _promise_ . The world they wanted, they could see it clear as crystal. But they didn’t see the hard work their world needed. And in the end it lead to their ruin. It lead to _you_ being made wrong for the wrong reasons.”

Abelas felt her lower lip wobble, “So Alexius was right? I am a mistake.”

“No child. You have turned your soul all on your own to noble purpose and the darkness inside of you can not fight that. Falon’Din made you the wrong way for the wrong purpose but through your own will you made yourself _—yourself._ And no one can ever take that away from you.” The Nightmare let go of her hand, “I should follow your example.”

“I want to go home.”

“Then do so. The only limits you have are the ones you have made.”

Abelas looked at the spot the portal had been in and raised her marked hand. It gave a tiny spark and then it bloomed open like a flower. White and warm with a border of black swirling into it. Abelas stood quickly. She could see Cullen and Maraas hugging on the other side, crying into each other. She doesn’t remember running. But she does remember running into them and saying she was alright. That she was home. She was home.

*******************

Falon’Din looked down at the mummy that had once been her. His little girl. He bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead, “I am so sorry, my sweet darling. I have ruined your life a thousand times over. All of this is _my_ fault.”

“So you finally admit it?” His wife asked him, or at least her ghost did.

He stood tall and let the tears fall, “I have never denied it.”


	19. Subjected to his will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did it my way. And so we raise the final curtain.

He remembers her so clearly that it sometimes robs him of breath. She had been so  _ little  _ and she had looked up at him with big brown eyes and she had smiled so sweetly at him. And then she was gone and the world meant nothing. It meant nothing because the one thing in life he had seen to be  _ perfect  _ and his and who was going to bring the world to rights had died in his arms and he had wept so much in the spot she had been born in and died in that the sky itself had never stopped weeping. A storm that raged forever. Solas had never had to hold his child in his arms and watch them take one  _ tiny  _ breath and then...and then...he watches now as Cullen swings her up onto the horse and tell her where her feet need to go. She doesn’t know _ — _ she suspects him and looks at him now with different eyes—but she doesn’t know but she will and he dreads that day.

When they had met again he hadn’t know it was her, and then he did. The first burst of Old Magic from her small hands and he  _ knew.  _ But she is still shaken from The Fade and he understands. He had been shaken when he had first walked in the Fade and had known no limits to his power. And she knows no limits and instead of being like him, brass and arrogant, she is cautious and now weighs her options so carefully. Which is why when the runner comes and says that they can no longer delay the trails, Cullen frowns and Abelas, she simply looks forlorn and goes without a word. She walks slowly, trying to make it prolong itself, but she gets to the throne room regardless. 

She sits on the Elvhen throne that Josephine had commissioned for her and she looks at the line of men who await her choice on their lives. Alexius does not afraid, he looks tired from too many nights awake thinking about his mistakes and his son no doubt. The Avaar scowls at her but he means no ill will. All “lowlanders” get a scowl, even the ones with pointy ears. The other Tevinter looks cocky and bored. Falon’din knows that Abelas will not let him leave here with his head. She can not. 

The Mayor of Crestwood will most likely suffer the same fate. 

The young man—the templar that had spoken out in Val Rouleaux and had somehow found his way to them—keeps a firm hold on their chains and Cullen nods to him as he passes to stand beside her. Abelas sighs and Josephine reads the charges out for Alexius. When she is done, Abelas looks at him and then up Dorian where he hovers in the balconies with Vivienne. Dorian looks away and Abelas is left alone with her choices. Like all of them. She looks at him for a long time and then takes a deep breath. Her voice carries in the room as everyone looks on. 

“Magister Alexius—”

He hold up one hand, chains hanging from his wrist, “Former. I am happy to have given up the title. Alexius is fine, dear girl.” 

“Alexius,” she starts again, “the charges before you are in-in..” she looks at Cullen, “indesputable?” 

“Indisputable.” Alexius speaks up again, “And I will not deny them. All present in this room know my crimes. My son was saved not because of me, but because you had the head on shoulders to see the obvious solution to his...illness. And I have never been more proud to say my son is a Grey Warden. So...do what you have to girl, I am not afraid to meet the reaper.” 

Her eyes slide to him, as he watches from the corner and then she looks at Alexius once more, “Dorian said you were a good man.” 

“I was. Once.” he chuckles, “I am afraid that was long before you were born though, and I have since fallen from grace.” 

She bites at her nails and blurts out, “You know time magic!” 

“True. I will my notes to Altus Pavus before my death.” 

“No, no, I mean…”she hovers for words and then looks at Dorian again but he has gone from the room. She grits her teeth and dives into her words instead, “You could help us! No one else knows time magic! No one.” 

Alexius smiles at her, “That is sweet, dear girl. But a lie. I know you can do time magic.” 

“But...we have mages who need help. Learning?” 

“Are you asking me?” Alexius sighs, “Or are you telling me?” 

“Telling?” 

Alexius bowed low to her, “Then I humbly offer my services to you. Perhaps I can earn back even a tenth of my honor in doing so. I have one request.” 

Abelas looked at Cullen, who nodded, and she asked, “Yes?” 

“My son...I would like to  _ finally  _ be able to write to him myself without having Dorian sneak around like a thief to do it. Though I suppose your spymaster already knew that.”

Cullen nodded to the young templar, who set Alexius free, “That is a fair request. Report to Vivienne and she’ll settle you into the mages towers.”  

The Avarr is easily appeased since it tradition that lead to him throwing a goat at them. Abelas sends him away with only a warning and he leaves. Falon’Din knows he will not be back to darken their door again. She glares at Erimond and he glares right back. 

“Livius Erimond.” 

“Knife-ear.” 

Cullen snaps at him, “Watch your tone, or lose your head.” 

“I’ll end up losing it regardless.” he chuckles, “But by all means.” 

Abelas folds her arms and pouts, “I could do worse.” 

Erimond laughs, “I doubt that. You are an elf, what do you know? I will tell you how you would be treated back in the Imperium. You would be less than nothing and this?” he uses his limited movement to gesture to the whole room, “Would be mine and so would you.” 

Abelas looks at him for a long time and he knows what she is going to say. He knows what she will do now. And if she does it, there would be no undoing it. Death in the Fade is forever and ever and no magic—not even Old Magic—would be able to get it back. She licks her lips and says, softly, “I could make you tranquil.” 

His smirk falls off his face. 

“Abelas,” Cullen warns, “that is for...unstable mages.” 

“What else do you call him?” she wonders and Erimond falls to his knees and  _ begs.  _ She looks away, “I think...if I was like you I would do that. Be cruel because I know I can. But...I’m not...I’m not…” 

The whole room watches in silence as Erimond begs for his life and Abelas looks down at her hands thinking. Her rabbit sits next to her, looking out just as forlorn as she does. She looks up and then at him. He can not help her. He knows what he would do. Cullen and Maraas share a look. Cole is suddenly there at her side and whispering something into her ear. She only closes her eyes and nods her head. 

Cole looks at Cullen, “He has to work...she says. He has to want to be forgiven and we have to want to forgive him too. But if he hurts anyone in anyway, he is to be tranquil. She wants to believe in second chances.” 

Cullen only nods his head and the young templar takes Erimond away. She slides from her chair and then looks at him once more, shaking her head in shame or disappointment he can not tell. She points to the Mayor of Crestwood, “He can be judged by his own people. He wrong them not me.” 

He cries out that they will kill him. She does not care and she shuffles away to go and hide under her covers. Cole follows her and Falon’Din feels Solas looking at him. And with that he turns away as well. He does not need his brother's disapproval as well. Abelas has taken to hiding under the bed. It is too small for anyone else to fit under and grab her. He lies on the floor and she watches him from under the bed. Cole sits atop it. He looks away from her to track the cracks in the ceiling with his eyes. He speaks softly to her even though no one else save Cole can hear him. 

“The first time we met after you died, you were blonde. And you didn’t love me back. The next time, you were brunette and you did. Truthfully, I stopped... guessing if the color of your hair meant anything each time we found each other. Because no matter what you did or who you loved, I was always going to love  _ you  _ more. I remember the times I got to watch you... grow up with the most fondness; because it felt like a second chance knowing what I had done to you...before. Even though you always _ —somehow— _ go along with my horrid ideas.” 

She crawls until the tips of her fingers peek out from the under bed and tugs a strand of hair closer to her, playing with it, “As I blonde like baba?” 

“Prettier.” 

“Liar.” she says softly. 

He turns his head to look at her and smiles; she needs to know and he keeps going, “And I always,  **always,** seemed to have horrid ideas. Even when you know they might get you killed. Meeting you when you are an adult is always—harder. You are always more...discerning about me. I am always prouder of you in those moments than any other. Sadly, those lifetimes are short and far between. You being...you float between this world and the other so often that sometimes I think, she has gone forever now. 

“My spell didn’t work. And then there you are! Like you never left. I hate it when I only ever barely meet you, because our time is cut so short. And there is nothing I can do to make you stay. I hate those. I would rather have you try to kill me.” 

“I tried to kill you?” she asks as she pokes her head out. 

He nods his head, “A few times.” 

“Were you mad?” 

Cole leaves them then. 

He shakes his head, “At least in those lives I know and understand. But this lifetime? This is not the life I had hoped for you. I will be honest, Abelas, I have often wondered each time, if  _ this  _ will be the last time you have to endure and suffer because of me. And I always pray it is, because you always ruin your own life because of me. I am the reason you never get to rest. And there is nothing I can do to change what my pride has wrought.” 

“So...now what?” she asks him as she uses her rabbit to prop her chin up. 

“So, now, here we are. The end is near, and so we must raise the final curtain. My sweet darling, I'll say it clearly to you _ — _ I'll state my case, of which I'm certain and in the best way I can _ — _ I've lived a life that's full and I traveled each and every highway we ever blazed. And more, much more than this, I did it my way. And my way cost us so much. It ended up costing  **you** so much. Regrets, oh my sweet darling...how do I even begin to explain my regrets? I've had a few too many mistakes to even know where to begin.

“But then again, I have also had too few to mention. I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption. My family could hate me all they want but I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway. I did it my way, and I never cared if they  _ approved  _ or not. Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew _ — _ I hoped you knew, before you died _ — _ when I bit off more than I could chew. But through it all, when there was doubt...I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way.” 

She snorts, “You’re way got everyone killed.” 

He keeps going, because it feels like a weight is being lifted, “I've loved, I've laughed and cried. I've had my fill, my share of losing and now, as tears subside, I find it all so  **amusing** . To think I did all that and may I say, not in a cowardly way. Oh, no, not me, I did it. For what is a man, what has he got if not himself, then he has naught to say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels? The record shows I took the blows and did it my way; yes, it was my way.” 

Solas speaking makes her jump, “Abelas.” 

She stands up, her rabbit held in a loose grip, “Tama says you can’t be up here without her, Solas. No one is. Not even Baba.” 

“Cole needs our help.” he tells her and leaves. Abelas runs after him and jumps down the steps. Falon’Din closes his eyes and lets himself float away to The Fade. 

*****************************

Cole is faced with an awful choice. Kill or not to kill? His finger shakes on the trigger of Bianca. Bianca. If he closes his eyes he almost see the real her. Varric had loved her so much and he still does but now...it’s tinted blue and purple and sometimes red. Dorian has the same colors when he thinks of his father. 

Abelas has the same color when she think of Ashihari. Rhys had had the same colors too when he thought about Cole. It doesn’t  _ hurt,  _ it can never hurt. But it also does. The love tangles around the hurt so tightly that he could never untangle it. The man whimpers in front of him—his killer is in front of him—and he is faced with an awful choice. Abelas and Solas hover behind him. 

Solas wants him to be a spirit but Abelas wants him to make that choice. What does killing do? What has it  _ ever  _ done? He shakes and Varric places a warm hand on his arm. He opens his eyes and his killer looks back. He grits his teeth and presses down. Bianca jumps in his grip. 

The man whimpered and flinched but he still lives. Cole keeps pressing. Hollow thunks answer him.  _ Thwunk, thwunk, twhunk.  _ Varric takes Bianca and Cole falls to his knees. Abelas runs over and hugs him to her tiny chest. Solas says something about making him forget and Cole lets his anger go. 

He stands, holding Abelas close to his own chest, and shakes his head, “NO. He has to remember the bad things he’s done or else he’ll keep doing them to anyone and that isn’t right. So he is going to remember killing me. He is going to remember all the bad things he’s done. No one gets to just forget. No one gets to pick and choose when they remember that they were horrible.” 

Solas looks personally offended but Cole doesn’t care. He stalks off with Abelas in tow. He is not subjected to anyone's will but his own. 


	20. Long live the king/queen/traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are getting ahead of our story.

Josephine looked over the fabrics on the bed and ran her thumb along the sleek silver cloth that was cool to the touch,“She needs a dress.”

“A gown.” Leliana said with a smirk and held up a bright pink fabric. 

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and then threw up his hands, “The uniform the rest of us are wearing will be  **fine** .”

“Never!” Josephine gasped and kept looking through the fabric. 

Leliana nodded her head and tossed a plum color down to the floor and Josephine threw away a dark green, “She must remind them that she is the Herald.”

“How can anyone forget?” Cullen said with a sigh and took a seat on the couch. Abelas kicked her feet at the desk as she did her schoolwork and ignored them. Cullen wished he could ignore the two women in front of him. What did it matter what she was wearing? She had saved the world, that should be enough!

Josephine chuckled and tossed away a heavy blue velvet to the ground as well. The dresser stood to the side in slight terror—masked with a pleased smile—and Cullen understood how he felt, “For people like nobles? Easily. You must remind them often that you are not expendable. Should they forget this or find someone who can do it for lesser, they will blacklist you in a heartbeat.”

“Josie is right. Better to keep them thinking you alone can stand against the darkness.” Leliana looked between a sea foam green and a lilac. She put both of them back on the bed. They must have met some standard of hers. 

Cullen rolled his eyes, “Abelas  _ can  _ stand alone against the darkness.” 

“Cullen,” Leliana sighed, “help us or  _ leave _ .”

Cullen gave her a dull look, stood, walked over to the bed and tugged loose a simple white cloth and handed it to her, “There.” 

Both women looked at the cloth and then turned to the seamster, “What color white is this?” they asked. Cullen threw his arms up and gave Abelas a kiss on the head before leaving. As he stomped down the stairs he comes across Maraas and they nod to each other.

“They are still debating?” she chuckles.

“Sadly.” he sighs dramatically, “I gave them a color and now that poor man is subject to their questioning about  _ texture  _ and  _ color _ .”

Maraas chuckles softly, “Indeed. Cullen.”

“Yes?”

“Later tonight we need to speak. For now, let me see what they have to say about this...funeral.” Maraas said as she rubbed the side of her nose. 

“I understand,” Cullen says as he jutted out one hip and folds his arms over his chest, “it is a noble party held by the Empress Celene.”

“Yes. A funeral.” Maraas says with a bored look at him and then keeps going up the stairs. Cullen watches her go up for a moment and then keeps going down. 

***********

Abelas is not allowed to move as the seamstress pulls the cloth to fit her. Falon’Din sits at the desk and watches with his head propped up on on his hand. He looks as bored as she feels. Leliana and Josephine, along with Dorian and Vivienne pick out jewelry to match her white and gold gown. They can’t seem to agree on a lighter gold or silver to match her gown. She is only grateful they didn’t pick a color like the ones who had been...chosen to be Shadow Knights for Falon’Din. She wonders if she would feel dirty in that color.

She gives a low hiss of pain when the needle pricks her hip. The seamstress apologizes and tries again. He laughs and says she is tall for only being seven. He says she looks tall enough to be ten. Josephine laughs and says girls get taller faster than boys. Dorian chuckles and says he knew a girl in his youth who grew to be seven feet tall by the time she was thirteen. He said she was a sweet girl and that no boy was brave enough to even talk to her. 

Except him. He liked that she was tall and odd. He said her wedding was magnificent. Vivienne tells her to not worry about being a little tall for her age. The boys will catch up soon enough, along with the other children. Abelas doesn’t really care. She’s more worried about the gift that Falon’Din says is fast approaching her. 

She asked him what gift. He said something he wanted to give to her when she had first been born, but she had died before he could. He won’t tell her what it is. And she worries. The seamstress places the last pin and steps back, and all of them look over the gown with a critical eye. Abelas looks at them in the mirror and she sees the mirrors that the Pantheon had once used instead. Her stomach rolls as she looks at herself. 

She doesn’t look like herself, she looks like...she looks like...she doesn’t have the word for it. She looks. That’s all she knows. Dorian says to bring the neck in, Vivienne agrees and tugs near her hip, saying that it needed less flair. Josephine says the sleeves need to have smooth fabric, not ruffles like her own gown. Leliana clicks her tongue and says she will need a flat shoe since she will be asked to dance by every young noble at the ball. They don’t want her feet to get sore before the night is over. 

They want her to be seen as the Herald, and they as the Inquisition. Maraas as the Inquisitor. She doesn’t understand why they have to make her seem like something else when she isn’t. She isn’t, at least she doesn’t  _ want _ to be.

“Do you know how to dance, darling?” Vivienne asked her as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Abelas looks up at her in the mirror.

“No.” she says softly.

Dorian scoffs, “That is a tragedy. We’ll need to mend that.”

“While you’re at it,” Leliana chuckled, “try and teach Cullen. He has stone feet at the best of times. We don’t need him to step on toes that could tear us down financially.”

Falon’Din rolled his eyes, “As though your people will not already be stigmatized upon arrival. You would do well to try and be a ghost as often as possible and keep your head. Queens who bribe their way to power are not above killing children.”

No one except her can hear him. 

“She will need a slipper.” Vivienne said as she smoothed down the gown, “Shoes have proven themselves to get lost on her feet. Slippers are tied up to the calves.”

Dorian twirled his mustache, “I can tie them with a Tevinter Navy knot. She won’t lose them the whole night long.”

Josephine looked at him in shock, “You were in the navy, master Pavus?”

“Every able bodied man and woman of the noble class must serve at least one year to the military. I chose the navy because I liked ships. That love has since gone out due to the long trip I had on the horrid boat to get here.” Dorian laughed.

Abelas looked down at her bare feet. She didn’t want to wear shoes. She hated them.

*************************

Cullen was speaking to his men, the hour late, and on his desk in his tower he pointed out each area of attack and where they need to up the defense. He did not notice Maraas enter his office but as he looked up he caught her eye in the candle light and his heart stopped. Her hair was loose and wavy, her eyes half lidded and aflame in the light. Her face soft and open as she looked at him. His mouth was suddenly dry. He finished up with his men and then suddenly they were alone. Together. 

They spoke softly and she leaned on the desk and something dropped so loud in the dim silence of them and then he could no longer keep his cool. He kissed her, pushing everything on his desk to the floor and fitting himself between her legs. She hooked her legs around him and pulled him deeper into the kiss. She was so warm. And she tasted like salvation. She tasted like everything he had dreamt of. As they drew away from each other he breathed out, “Maraas.”

*********************

Varric tapped his quill on the blank piece of paper. He had taken to writing down everything that had happened so far to them—making a few things kinder than what had really happened and using his own imagination to fill in the blanks—but right now his mind is drawing a blank because he knows every good story has some kind of romance in it. Not a long sordid thing in an adventure novel, but just enough that the reader knows who is sleeping with who and who used to be together but aren’t anymore. His editor had known Hawke and Fenris would end up together by the fifth chapter because of how he wrote them acting  _ together,  _ not just telling her they were a couple. He has so far not written about the romance that has happened. Orta and Sera had taken to being the two queens of pranks. Damen, Dorian and Bull were not as slick as they liked to pretend, even though Bull used to be a spy for Maker's sake. 

Blackwall and Josephine, well, he didn’t know how to talk to a noble lady like her, but Josephine didn’t seem to mind him at all. Maraas and Cullen needed a day off to just be together and let nature run its course. He supposes he could lie about the love stories. Solas sits across the table from him and looks down at the blank sheet.

“Writer's block?”

Varric chuckles, “Kinda. My rendition of our story is mostly done, pending the final fight and this ball. I’m wondering how to tell the romance parts. I’ve never been good at romance, to be honest. Don’t know how to tell it without sounding like a peeping tom into other people's lives.”

“I have found that most great love stories have some tragedy linked to them.” Solas said as he looked into the fireplace, behind Varric, “Even the immortal elves had tragedy in their lives.”

Varric began to twirl his quill between his fingers, “I’m pretty sure the world almost ending counts, Chuckles. Or do you mean  _ personal _ tragedy?”

“Personal. People feel each other through empathy. The world ending strikes fear into your heart, but when it hovers so far away you often forget about it. You only lament the apocalypse after it has happened.”

Varric looked at Solas for a long moment—still twirling the quill—and then smirked at him, “Speaking from  _ personal experience, _ or are you just guessing?”

“I loved someone—long ago in the years of my youth. But she sadly turned her affection to another. I had hoped that one day we would become a couple, but she chose  _ him  _ over me.” Solas said as he gripped his hands tightly together, “And in the end, he chose another over her because of his own selfish wants. She died with a broken heart.”

Varric put the quill down and got up from the chair, “Maybe she did make the wrong choice. But if you had really loved her, you would have been happy for her regardless of that bad choice. Because if you  _ had  _ loved her like you say you do, then no matter who she picked—even if it’s never you—will always be her choice. Even if you wish she had chose different. You don’t get to judge her just because she never picks  _ you.” _

Varric is a big enough man to admit that he had once loved  _ Hawke  _ like that, but she had fallen in love with Fenris. She had married him. Had kids with him. She had moved on with her life happy as she had ever been and Varric had never held it against her. He still loved her, Maker above, he still loved her. But he had moved on as she did. Because she deserved to be happy, even if it meant he wasn’t in the picture like he wanted to be. 

“I would have loved her better.” Solas snaps at him.

Varric tilted his head a little and then snorted, “So what? She didn’t pick  _ you _ . Maybe she saw how you were going to treat her once you got her and she didn’t want any part of it. Doesn’t matter that you would have  _ “loved her better”  _ or whatever. She already loved someone else and it doesn’t give you the right to act like an asshole just because she said no.”

“What would you know, master dwarf?”

Varric can see her now, the woman he had loved before Hawke. Her bunny nose and the missing teeth she had from childhood. The busted up knees and soot covered fingers. He can still hear her laugh. He can still see her smile the day she got married. Varric clicks his tongue, “I know how to be a big enough man to tell her congratulations and get out of the way. Because when you love someone, all you want is for them to be happy...even if it means you don’t get to be a part of the narrative.”

Solas stood suddenly and loomed over Varric, “Once, in the Fade, I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left. He could have struck out on his own to find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent every day catching fish in a little boat, every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars.”

“I can think of a thousand worse things than that.” Varric told him with a solemn look.

Solas began to pace, his hands moving, “You truly are content to sit in the sun,  _ never _ wondering what you could've been, never fighting  **back** .” 

“Ha, you've got it all wrong, Chuckles. This **is** fighting back.” Varric told him with a smirk as he crossed his arms and jerked his chin up.

Solas scoffed, “How does passively accepting your fate constitute a fight?”

“In that story of yours—-the fisherman watching the stars, dying alone. You thought he gave up, right?” Varric said as he used one hand to gesture.

Solas spoke through gritted teeth, “Yes.”

“But he went on  _ living _ . He lost everyone, but he still got up every morning. He made a life, even if it was  **alone** . That's the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you've got, it takes. And it's gone forever. The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. He kept  **going** . That's as close to beating the world as anyone gets.” 

Varric looks down and scribbles his words onto the page, making an arrow to Abelas’ name. He had just had a wonderful thought for the prologue on his book. He can see Solas clench and unclench his hands. Like he wants to rant and rage. To punch something. Varric looks up at him and waits. Fenris had been a bitter and angry person like this once. 

Only difference was that he had been vocal about it, didn’t even try to hide it under a veneer of abject politeness. Fenris had stopped being so angry and bitter. He still carried his anger and his scars, but Hawke had made his life better and helped him to carry the burden of his old life. Solas didn’t know how to stop being a bitter person for his past. Or move on from it. Or to even confront it. Varric waits. 

Solas simply looked at him and walked away with a few parting words, “Well said. Perhaps I was mistaken.” 

************************

Falon’Din thinks that Abelas looks like a princess as she looks at the gown that had been made for her. She frowns at it in the dim light of the fireplace. He finally asks her why the dress makes her so sad and Abelas looks at him. Her hair is loose and frames her face. Falon’Din knows that she’ll grow up gorgeous. 

“They used to wear pretty dresses when they would be given to you.” 

Falon’Din bows his head, “They did. I wanted them to look their best when they were going to their final destination. Their shadows were happy and content when their souls left the mortal coil. Why is that making you so unhappy about the dress made for you?” 

“What if they bury me in this?” Abelas whimpers. 

Falon’Din frowns, “Abelas, that dress is for you as your are now. A child. When you die,  _ if  _ you die, the dress will be different and bigger. Why would you think you would be buried in this?” 

“I feel like,” she whispers and sits down in front of the fireplace, dragging a piece of wood toward her and throwing it on the coals, the fire flaring up, “I feel like my time is running out. I feel like the end of my story is coming and...I don’t feel scared. I don’t even feel  _ bad  _ that if I died I would be leaving Tama and Baba alone. I feel like it’s something I’ve been waiting for.” 

Falon’Din stands and comes to sit next to her in front of the fire, “You imagine death so much it feels like a memory.”  

“I’ve died a lot though. You said so yourself.” 

Falon’Din nods his head, “You have indeed. You never remember the lives you’ve lived, only the death. The oldest age you have ever been is about twenty-eight. Maybe thirty. That’s why you feel like you do. Your soul is waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

“Does it make me a bad person to feel like this is taking so long?” 

“No. It makes you an old soul.” 

***********************

Halamshiral had once been Elvhen and no matter how many new  _ human _ buildings were built around it, and no matter how much of the old capital they tore down, you could still see the beauty of it. Cool marble and cream colors, with strong iron backing and a golden finish. The large fountains had been altered. The faces rubbed away and made smooth and the ears shaved down to look human. They had wanted to erase all of the old history. Her people's history. Abelas frowned up at the fountain as Grand Duke Gaspard spoke to them. 

Vivienne went to mingle with people who had known her lover before he died. Dorian and Damen went to mingle with a few Tevinter dignitaries who had been invited. Everyone else had gone up the staircase already while Maraas and the advisors stood behind to be spoken to. Gaspard got down on one knee to speak to her. He smelled heavily of perfume. His clothing was perfect to the point where it made her wonder if he ever did anything to get his own hands dirty. He gave her hand a little kiss as he lifted it to his lips.

She looked at him as he gave her a smile. His mask eyes were hollow as he spoke to her, “The lady Herald. Truly do you honor me with accepting my invitation to my cousin's party. I, sadly, can not say if she feels the same way. But please...do enjoy the evening.”

Abelas took the edges of her gown and gave a little curtsey like how she had been taught by Dorian, Vivienne and Josephine, “Thank you.”

A group of people in golden and black elvhen masks walked past them and the woman at the head of the group was dressed in a form fitting gown that was the same color as the ones Falon’Din had dressed his Shadow Knight candidates in. Her hair was long and white and smelled like sunflowers. Abelas turned her head to follow them as they went up the steps.

“Ah, the entertainment for tonight. The ones we had hired became suddenly ill but we were able to find replacements in quick order. Out of the desert I believe.” Gaspard chuckled, “They call themselves the Pantheon.”

Abelas watched as the woman spoke to one of the men and then her head turned and she looked right at her. Abelas felt her face heat. The mask glowed so far away, but only the lines on the mask made her face flush.  _ Falon’Din _ . The man she had spoken to at the top of the stairs wore Mythal. He was looking at her too. Abelas scowled at them and the woman simply turned away.

She seemed so familiar. As they went in, finally, the large group in elvhen mask went in and ducked behind a curtain. Abelas frowned at them. Something was wrong. As everyone broke apart to go and snoop, she clung to Cullen. Who was quickly surrounded by men and women all asking to dance. Cullen kept shaking his head and saying he had to stay with her. 

She tucked her head into his lower spine and hugged him tightly. It was too warm and loud here. She wanted to go home. Suddenly the Empress was ready for everyone to be introduced. And each and every member of the Inquisition was given a whole moment to be introduced to her and then Abelas was walked all the all down the ballroom to stand before the Empress who stood so high above everyone else. She gave a little bow to her and the Empress smiled at her, but it looked more like a sneer. She talked and Abelas only saw her mouth move.

Suddenly everything slowed down and then stopped. She closed her eyes tightly. She knew this magic. She turned and the woman was there, the mask looking at her and seeming so familiar. Abelas clenched her hands as the woman walked toward her and then looked up at the Empress and completely passed her by. Abelas turned and snapped at her, “Who are you?”

“Me? I suppose you, many years from now—assuming that you don’t die here.”

Abelas looked at her back, exposed skin dark and contrasting that horrid color, and the mark of Falon’Din all but branded onto her back and then up at the Empress, “So what? I get reborn no matter how many times I die.”

The older her—if it  _ was  _ an older her—chuckled, “That’s true...assuming that he wasn’t here with you tonight.”

“You mean Solas?” 

The older her laughs so loudly it startles her, “Solas? Please,” she turns to look at Abelas and waves her hand in front of her face, “I can promise you that  _ Solas _ is not the one you need to worry about. He is going to be Mythal and a long, long,  _ long  _ time from now the two of us finally make the world a little bit better. The downside to tonight, if you die here, he takes your soul without even realizing and you  _ don’t _ get to be reborn. So don’t die. Because if you do, then the bright future we worked for will be for nothing.”

Abelas looks at the older her, “But...you’re  _ here _ .”

“Let me offer you some free advice. Death is certain, but the time of it is uncertain. Even for me, and I can time travel. So make sure you don’t die here, because we don’t have the luxury of waiting to be reborn again.” The older her turned to look at the Empress again and then shook her head, “To be honest, we never have the luxury of it again.”

“Never...again?”

The older her shook her head, “No. We’re here to make sure the events unfold like how they should. But we are not allowed to interfere with this. If you die, you die. None of us can save you. Not even yourself.”

“Why pretend to be fools and bards?”

“Easy access. Keep that in mind. And watch your back.” she told herself as she walked away past her and then stopped in front of Maraas and Cullen. She touched their cheeks and bowed her head, “Watch them too. When things get to be...too much, remembering them helps.”

And just like that, as she walked back up the stairs, time slowly sped up again, no one even seeing her. Abelas turned back to the Empress and once more bowed to her as she finished her speech. She went back to Maraas and Cullen. She held their hands and looked down at her slippers. She took a deep breath as they lead her back up the stairs and off the ballroom floor. Everyone mingled and Cullen stood near an open balcony door so that she can feel the breeze from outside. People still asked him to dance, and he still refused, saying he had to watch her.

She was still pressed into his back, hiding her face from everyone. She felt a hand touch her hair and jerked back to look. Maraas was on one knee, a frown on her face. Abelas felt horrible. It was a party and she making everyone worry for no reason. The older version of herself and the others were all playing music and singing down in the ballroom. Abelas pulls away from Cullen and hugs Maraas tightly.

“Tama!” she says with as much happiness as she can muster into her voice, “Take me to see the paintings? Or the gardens? Please?” 

Maraas looks at Cullen who only shakes his head and shrugs helplessly at her. Marass simply nods her head and takes her hand, leading her out. They are in the middle of looking at the stuffed animals in the trophy room when a boy's voice calls out. 

“You’re in Inquisitor. Mother didn’t say you were a Qunari.”

They both turn and see a boy with sad eyes and a kind smile looking at them. He is hovering in the door. Abelas looks down at her feet as Maraas takes them over to the boy. She crouches down in front of him. And yet she still towers over him. Maraas towers over everyone. 

Maraas smiled down at him and spoke with a chuckle, “Oh? I’ve been told that’s the first thing people notice about me.” 

“I noticed your blood. It doesn’t  _ belong _ to your people.” 

Abelas looks up sharply at the boy, “What do you know?”

He looks at her and then ducks his head with a blush on his face, “Sorry. Mother says I’ll get better at talking to people. She thinks it’s because my father is deaf and my aunt is mute. And she was never any good at talking to people.”

“Who’s your dad?”

The boy beams at her and Maraas stands up as the children talk to each other, “He’s the twin brother to the Hero of Ferelden! My aunt stopped the Blight.”

Abelas looks at him, “You’re a Mahariel?”

“My name is Kieran.” the boy says and holds out his hand toward Abelas. She shakes his pale hand, “And you’re the Herald.”

“I don’t mean to be.” Abelas tells him, still holding his hand. They don’t seem to notice it as they speak and giggle. Maraas leaves them to their childhood and closes the door behind her. As she walks out back the grand hallway she hears someone slowly clapping their hands as they come down the steps. She turns and sees a dark haired woman in a velvet dress coming down. Maraas raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Well, well, wel. What have we here?” the woman asked, her accent forgein even to Marass who had traveled far and learnt many languages. 

Maraas folded her arms over her chest, “Can I help you?”

The woman put her hands on her hips and gave her a smirk, “No. But I can help you.”

“Not to be rude,” Maraas sighed, “but I doubt I need the help of a noblewoman who may very well be a spy for the Empress. Just I must decline.”

“If not the help of a noblewoman, would you instead like the help of the witch of the wilds?” the woman chuckled when Maraas gave her an unimpressed look, “I must admit that I am use to my reputation proceeding when I tell people that. Are you not afraid of the witch who stole away the brother of the Warden Queen and the soul of an old god?”

Maraas thinks back to the Fade. To Abelas. The thing she became and her power. She smirks at the woman, “I have seen an old god, Morrigan Mahariel. I do not fear you. I fear not even the old magic anymore.”

Morrigan narrows her eyes at Maraas and clicks her tongue, “And what old magic have you seen? I am curious to know.”

Maraas looks to where had left Abelas and Kieran. She chuckles and pushes her hair back from her face, “Death. I have looked upon the visage of death in all its glory. Wearing its crown and brandishing its power. And in that moment I was confronted with my own mortal life and I had nothing to fear for death had turned its gaze to me. It had turned its gaze to a demon of fear.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown and numbered are their days.” Morrigan says softly, looking to her son as he and Abelas come out of the room, still holding hands. The children walk right past them and Morrigan folds her arms and bows her head, “She is just like my Keiran, isn’t she? An old god reborn into a new body and only aware of the vague deja vu that was once their old life.”

“Yes.” 

***************************************

Kieran takes her out to the garden and shows her his magic. It is glowing blue and warm between his fingers and he looks embarrassed to be showing her. She shows him her own magic, a sinister purple choking on black that seems to hiss and snap at him from between her own fingers. He asks her what she can do and what she can’t do. She sits down on the edge of one of the fountains and kicks her legs.

“I can do weird things.” she tells him and then laughs, “I can even make myself bigger than a  _ dragon  _ and...I think I can summon the dead. I haven’t tried it yet.”

“I can summon a dragon!” Kieran says and then laughs at himself, unsure. They are both unsure in this moment and it is not because of childish love or crushes. Something older and more powerful than that tells them to make amends for things that they are not even aware of. Kieran kicks at the dirt as the music floats down from an open window, “I can do time magic, but mother says that I must be careful with it because if I change anything in the past, then I might ruin the next age for everyone.”

Abelas rubs her knuckles, “I’ve...I’ve been told that too. But I don’t think I end up listening like you do.”

“That’s all right,” Kieran says and sits down next to her, “if you do end up mucking about with time, I’ll come with you so we can fix it! Between the two of us, we can do anything!”

Abelas smiles at him. And they began to walk through the garden when they heard someone behind them. They both turned and a man in a jester mask was there holding twin daggers. Kieran grabbed her wrist and Abelas felt her throat dry. As he lunged at them, Abelas and Kieran both raised the hand not holding each other and a portal opened under them. It swallowed them whole and they both screamed as they fell. Kieran could not hold onto her and the both spun out and away from each other. 

Abelas knows she hits the ground because she wakes up on it and pushes herself up and to her feet. She looks around and calls out for Kieran. For Maraas. For Cullen. For anyone. She walked as she called out. There was no answer. 

Abelas did not even hear her own cries. She was already far away, leaping blindly up the path to the hill-top. Terror and grief shook her. Soon she came out alone on the summit of the hill, halted, gasping for breath. She saw through the mist a wide flat circle, paved with mighty flags, and surrounded with crumbling battlements; and in the middle, set upon ten carven pillars, was a high seat, reached by a stair of many steps. Up she went and sat upon the ancient chair, feeling like the lost child that she was as she clambered upon the throne of the long dead king who had once sat upon this throne that only The Fade could remember. At first she could see little. She seemed to be in a world of mist in which there were only shadows: the mark was smarting on her hand and her nose would not stop bleeding. Then here and there the mist gave way and she saw many visions; small and clear as they were under her eyes upon a table, and yet remote. 

There was no sound, only bright living images. The world seemed to have shrunk and fallen silent. She was sitting, though she did not know it, upon the Seat of Seeing, the throne in which Falon’Din had once sat, and her people had once called this place The Hill of Sight. Eastward she looked into wide uncharted lands, nameless plains, and forest unexplored. Northward she looked, and the shining cities of the far away land in which Qunari once hailed from, lay like a ribbon beneath her, and the Frostback Mountains stood small and hard as broken teeth. Westward she looked and saw the broad pastures of Orlais; and the Emerald Graves, the pinnacle of what was once Arlathan, like a green spike. Southward she looked and below her very feet the Waking Sea curled like a toppling wave and plunged over the end of the world in a foaming pit; a glimmering rainbow played upon the fumes. 

And Tevinter she saw, the mighty delta of the land mass, and myriads of sea-birds whirling like a white dust in the sun, and beneath them a green and silver sea, rippling in endless lines. But everywhere she looked she saw signs of war. The Frostbacks were crawling like anthills: Red Templars were issuing out of a thousand holes. Under the boughs of the Kocari Wilds there was a deadly strife of Elves and Avvar and fell beasts. The land of the Qunari was aflame; a cloud was over Orlias; smoke rose on the borders of Tevinter and Nevarra. Horsemen were galloping on the grass of Rivian; wolves poured from Antiva. From the havens of the Free Marches ships of war put out to sea; and out of Seheron the Fog Warriors were moving endlessly: swordsmen, bowmen upon horses, chariots of chieftains and laden wains. All the power of Corypheus was in motion. Then turning south again she beheld the once great cities of the Elvhen people. Far away it seemed, and beautiful: white-walled, many-towered, proud and fair upon its mountain-seat; its battlements glittered with steel, and its turrets were bright with many banners. 

Hope leaped in her heart. Until the city was swallowed whole by the darkness as was her hope. She felt tears weeping down her cheeks and she wiped at them harshly. Then she heard her name, distant and loud and afraid like her. She looked up and she was once again at the top of the hill, bodies chained to each pillar, except one, and turned toward the voice. Kieran stumbled up the hill and braced his body on his knees. She let him catch his breath.

“Abelas,” he gasped and then placed his hands on her shoulders, still trying to catch his breath, “Abelas. I know where we are!” 

She knew it too. The Fade may take any shape it wishes but it was always The Fade. She looks down at her shoes, “We need to go home.” 

An older womans voice calls out, “Well, isn’t this a surprise?” 

They turn to look at who is coming up the hill and an older woman with her hair pulled out to look like horns is coming up to meet them. Abelas and Kieran look at each other. They do not know this woman, or if she is friendly to them or not. But she hasn’t attacked them or tried to kill them and has so far made no moves to show otherwise. Once she gets closer, Kieran squints his eyes at her and then breathes out harshly. 

“Grandmother.”

Abelas gives him a dull look, “Is this some kind of family reunion?” 

Suddenly a loud yell makes them jump and the old woman smacks away a fireball and burns one of the remains chained to a pillar to ash. The both look and see another woman with dark hair storming toward them. The older woman hardly looks impressed. Kieran looks down. 

“Mother.” he says and Abelas throws up her hands. The older woman is still walking toward them as Kieran's mother stalks toward her. Kieran and Abelas both fall to the ground as they let loose magic at each other. Finally the older woman seems to do  _ something  _ and then Kieran’s mother can no longer use her magic. They get to their feet as the battle ends and the magic fades. 

The older woman chuckles once she is an arms length away from them, “Mother, daughter, grandson. Warms’ the heart, doesn't it?’ 

Kieran’s mother hisses, “Kieran is  _ not  _ your grandson. Let him go!” 

“As if I was holding the boy hostage!” she looked at Abelas with a shake of her head, “She’s always been ungrateful, you see?”

“Ungrateful?!” his mother exclaims and shakes her head, her whole body shaking with rage, “I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone! You will not have me and you will not have my son!” 

Her magic seems to flare back to life briefly and the older woman's eyes glow with the same kind of blue magic that Kieran has, “That’s quite enough. You’ll endanger the children.” 

The blue magic knocks her back so hard she stumbles and almost rolls down the hill. She sneers at the older woman, “What have you done to me?” 

“Calmed you with the same magic you inherited from me. I have come to speak to the children, nothing more.” 

Kierans mother seems to come to some life changing conclusion, “You...are Mythal.”

Abelas and Kieran both snap their heads to look at his mother as she shakes her head in disbelief. Abelas looks hard at the older woman. She knows that Kieran is  _ half  _ Elf, but this woman doesn’t even look like that. Abelas grabs a hold of Kieran's sleeve. 

“But you...you can’t be Mythal.” 

His grandmother laughs, “Explain to me, dear girl, how I can not be what I am.” 

Abelas gestures to her whole body, “Mythal was an  _ Elvhen  _ god. You...you’re…”

“Human?” his grandmother laughs without mirth in her voice, “Not a word many have used for me in a very long time.” 

Kieran tugged on his mothers dress and when she looked at him, he hugged her. He looked away as he spoke to her, “I’m sorry, mother. I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time.” 

“I do not understand.” his mother says with a frown. 

His grandmother moves toward the throne, her back ramrod straight, “Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.”

“You carry Mythal inside you?” Abelas says softly. 

His grandmother turns on the steps to smile down at her, “She is a part of me, no more separate than your heart from your chest. But what  _ was  _ Mythal? A legend given name and called a god, or something more? Truth is not an end, but a beginning. A herald indeed, shouting to the heavens, harbinger of a new age. As for me, I have had many names, but you may call me Flemeth.” 

“I know that name,” Abelas says and moves away from Kieran, “you’re an old folk legend. Your story always made me sad. You got tricked by your husband and he locked you away and a spirit offered you freedom. That was Mythal, wasn’t it?” 

Flemeth shook her head and continued to walk up the steps to the throne, “One day someone will summarize the terrible events in your life just as quickly. But yes, I was that woman. That is how my tale began.”

“But you help heroes in all kinds of stories. You even helped Hawke!” 

Flemeth sat down on the throne and crossed her legs, “I nudge history, when it’s required. Other times, a shove is needed.” 

“That’s why she wanted to talk to us.” Kieran said softly and Abelas only licked her lips. 

“About what?” she asked. 

Flemeth snapped her fingers and another portal opened, “History does not set us free from who we are suppose to be, Abelas. It reveals to us that the future we set out for is not the one that we will end up in. The past, however long ago the past is or will become, was once the future. But once the future has come and gone, you can not change it. You were once Falon’Din and now you are Abelas, that is all you and Kieran understand.”

“What happens now?” Abelas whispered. 

“Go home, girl. We are getting too far ahead of our story.” Flemeth answered and Kieran grabbed her wrist, dragging her after his mother and him. They came out in the library above the ballroom and below them the plot to kill the queen had just been revealed. Morrigan told them to stay here and ran off to go and protect the queen. Abelas looks at Kieran and then down at her feet. As she sat down in one of the chairs Kieran came to stand in front of her. 

“I’m sorry.” he told her. 

She shook her head, “I think...I think the older me knew this was going to happen and just wanted to make sure of it.”

“Got it in one.” the older her said as she came from further in the library. The man in the Mythal mask was with her. They both looked at her, still wearing the masks, “Sorry for this. I saw what happens if you don’t meet Flemeth tonight. We can’t afford that.”

The man nods his head, and his voice is warm and smooth when he speaks, “And now that we have tampered enough with time, we must be on our way.” his magic is blue and he opens up a portal of shimmering white light. 

“Don’t worry,” the older her says as her whole group marches back to their time, “when you get to this point, you find this moment to be one of the most asshole-ish things you’ve done.”

The man laughs, “Don’t lie to yourself. It’s rude.” 

“That’s true.” the older her chuckles and then shakes her head, spinning her hand as she speaks, “It’s  _ one  _ of the many asshole-ish things you end up doing.” 

Abelas clicks her tongue, “What else do I end up doing?” 

“Darling,” the man says and holds out his hand to the older her, “we’ve meddled enough. It’s time to go home.”

The older her nods her head and waves goodbye as she moves away, “Don’t stress over it You survive this.” 

Her and Kieran watch them vanish  and sit in silence for a long time. Abelas moves off of the chair and goes toward the door, “Come on. The party's over.” 

******************

The entire Inquisition is muttering and yelling at each other once they get back to Skyhold. Morrigan is a new addition to their arguments.

Maraas finally grows tired of the yelling and bellows for silence. The room quiets and she rubs at her temples and sighs, “This is pointless if we can’t hear each other. The party was a coup and we stopped the death of the Empress.” 

“We also put her cousin and her former lover into place too. And now we—in a strange turn of events—are now the ones pulling the strings of the Empire. Does anyone else think we are treading into dangerous waters and should head back to shore?” Orta asks as she cleans out her pipe, a frown on her face. 

Daimen nods his head, “My father once said it best during a coup in Tevinter. Heavy is the head that wears the crown and numbered are their days, but shadows lurk in every corner, and joy is far from their hearts. Rage, the people scream, docile and calm. This was a long time in coming, but if not us, then someone else would be pulling the strings and they might make things harder for us. I don’t think we have to like it, but we should make the best of it regardless.” 

“The question  _ now,”  _ Cassandra said as she paced around the room, “is what is the next move? We have foiled each and every plan presented to us, and he has nowhere else to go. But now we have reached an impasse with this war as well.” 

Varric drums his fingers on the table, “We should wait him out. We made him desperate and the ball is in his court now.”

“He’s angry at Abelas.” Cole whispers from the window he is sitting in, “His Templar and Mage commanders are being made to work double. He’s looking for something that can get him ahead of her. He knows she’s not what she says she is anymore. _ Good, Godly, Gracious. The gall of that girl trying to usurp my right that I have burnt the very heavens to achieve. _ ” 

Sera rolls her eyes with a huff and her anger makes her accent thick and hard to understand, almost, “Da poin' is 'e can'' ge' 'o 'er so long as she stays 'ere an' she 'as 'o pro'ec' 'er. As far as 'er bein some kind superna'ural bein aw an old god, we don'' 'ave any proof ov i'. An' even if we did i' means hump all since 'here isn'' any'hin we can do 'o make 'er stop bein a big scary monster 'ha' can kill mawe big scary monsters. I say we wash our mitts ov 'his an' le' 'er go be who she's goin 'o be.” 

“We need to be ready for a fight if and  _ when  _ it comes calling. At the moment, Abelas is our trump card since he doesn’t know what she  _ can  _ do. Right now that’s a good thing for a fight, but it also means we don’t know either.” Blackwall said with a gruff sigh and rubbed at his head, “Maker's balls, this couldn’t get much worse, could it?” 

Bull gave a snort, “Yeah, it can. Abelas has done a lot of things no one has ever done in the history of the world. She survived the Fade—twice—she was able to win a Qunari alliance, close rifts, fight demons and dragons and live. She is apparently—according to the witch on loan—a god of death reborn. Not to mention we more or less stole power from a powerful empire by dangling their secrets in front of them and a threat to use them. If we are being honest here, he doesn’t know about the reborn god thing, but he’s not stupid. His next move is going to be to bring her down and bring her down  _ hard.”  _

“That is the only sure way to bring down an empire.” Vivienne said as she cleaned her nails, not even looking up, “And looking at the history of the world, it is a proven method. The victor is the one who tells the story, and those who have been ground under their heel, will never be able to regain all that is lost. Abelas is a child, but she is first and foremost an Elf , and she has grown up with half formed stories and even less than half of what was once the Empire of Elvhen. If she  _ is  _ a god of death to her people reborn, then Corypheus will kill her for no other reason than to re-establish dominance over a race that had been turned into slaves when he left. He won’t let this slight stand.” 

Dorian leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, “She’s right. None of the older magisters would let this stand, and Corypheus certainly won’t. The whole of Tevinter upper class would demand her head on a spike it they could arrange it. I agree with Blackwall  _ and  _ Sera. For the time being, Abelas can’t leave Skyhold. She’s is the catalyst to the next age and we don’t have the luxury of letting chance try and kill the girl  _ again.”  _

The room was silent. 

“Is what you said, true?” Solas asked after a moment of silence and looked at Morrigan. “That your mother is Mythal and that called Abelas  _ Falon’Din  _ and nothing else?” 

Morrigan scowled at him, “I am not  _ deaf.  _ And I know my mother. She said those things, yes, but I would not listen to them. Very little of what she says is true and should be taken with a grain of salt.” 

“A family trait, I take it?” Leliana snapped. 

Solas gave a scoff, “Truth or not, there is no denying that Abelas is a mage of extreme power. And none of us know if it is because of the circumstances of her birth or because of the circumstances of the mark on her hand. Dorian? Vivienne? What are your thoughts on the allegations presented by Morrigan Mahariel? 

“I am a man of faith and science.” Dorian sighed and folded his arms on the table, “Scientifically there is no  _ proof  _ that any mortal being could ascend to godhood like how she has supposedly done. But my faith tells me, my whole  _ being,  _ tells me it’s true. Abelas is something more and if a title must be placed on her, then a god is as good as one as any.” 

Vivienne gave them all a sharp look, “She is a powerful mage and should be taught to control her powers. As of right now, her control over them is commendable, but she needs to be trained before she ends up killing an innocent bystander.” 

“She’s right. Abelas needs to be trained,” Bull said with a nod, “if not to keep others safe than to keep her own power in check.” 

Blackwall folded his arms, “I think Dorian is right. If Abelas gets to have a title, a god reborn sounds about right.” 

“We need to kill Coryphe-piss is what we need to do.” Sera snapped. 

Cole tugged on his hair, “He can’t die. We need to send him back to the Fade.” 

“Let’s look at all of our options before we do something stupid. Nothing is getting done tonight and there’s no point in arguing about it.” Varric said and got up from his chair, cracking his back as he did so. 

Cassandra stopped her pacing and then looked up at the ceiling as she sighed. “Varric is right. We have won and we need to rest.” 

“Is...is no one going to ask then?” Daimen muttered. 

Orta put a match to her pipe, “Ask what?” 

“He means Kieran.” Maraas said with a sigh and sat down in her chair. Everyone looked at Morrigan who looked away from them and down at her feet. 

Josephine wrote something down on her board she always carried with her, “Keiran is the son of the Warden Mahariel and Morrigan, but was also somehow conceived from a spell. A spell trapping the soul of an old god from Tevinter inside of him.” 

“The Warden Queen willing parted with that information, I take it?” Maraas put her head back and rubbed at her temple. She could feel a headache coming on. 

Orta blew out a ring of smoke, “Leliana, I bet. She was there too after all.” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Daimen shouted and salmmed his fist on the table, “Are we not going to talk about the fact that her son is  _ another  _ god reborn?” 

Cassandra looked around the room and right at Morrigan, “As Morrigan said, she does not believe her mother. Perhaps we should take a page from her book. Wait and see what shall come to pass with him and Abelas.” 

“Let them be kids. They’ll be old like us soon enough.” Varric said softly with a solemn look on his face. 

Cole rocked in his seat, “Ancient, aging, adolescence. Pitiful, powerful, powerless. Words are meaningless and forgettable.” 

“Bloody hell.” Sera said and stood up from her seat and made her way to the door, “I’m done, yeah? It’s time for bed. Come on, Orta. I need someone to drink with.” 

Blackwall stood up as well and made his way over to Sera, “I agree. It’s late and a drink before bed sounds good.” 

“I’m game.” Bull huffed and went with them. 

Vivienne rolled eyes and stood, “We should sleep and speak in the morning.” 

“I don’t think any of us will ever agree, but I have a few letters to write to home and some research to look over.” Dorian got up from his seat and cracked his back with a satisfied sigh. 

Solas simply stood and said nothing.

“My son is not something to be feared.” Morrigan told them and turned into a raven before flying out the window Cole—the same window he was sitting in front of of— opened for her. 

Cullen looked at Maraas and took her hand in his, pressing a kiss to it, “Abelas isn’t something to be feared either.” 

Solas scoffed, “That remains to be seen.” and left the room.

“Don’t mind him. Goodnight.” Dorian called out as he left as well. Vivienne gave a nod of her head as she left. Bull, Blackwall and Sera left with wishes of goodnight and went to the tavern. Cole was simply gone. Varric waved to them as he left with Cassandra following him out. Daimen didn’t say anything, he simply followed after Bull and Orta went to catch up to Sera. 

Maraas shook her head and looked at Cullen, “Abelas does need to be trained and we need to think about her future. But tonight, let’s just sleep.” 


	21. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wise stand back from the fire, the mystic looks at the man who started it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the long delay. I got a new job and a bunch of other stuff happened and this chapter is more of setting up for what happens at the end. Please enjoy!!!

Abelas rolls over in her bed with a huff, tucking her head into her rabbit and trying to sleep. It was hard to sleep with all she had learned. She shivers under her blankets and then jerks up in bed. She can hear something. She gets out of bed, holding her rabbit in one hand and uses the other to feel around in the dim of the room. Cullen and Maraas are asleep in the large bed. They had converted the tiny space to the left, the one with the door, into a room for her. She looks around for the noise and can’t find anything. She hears the door leading up to the Inquisitors Tower open and softly shut. 

She walks down the steps and opens the door herself. She looks out into the hallway and sees the next door leading to the stairs shut. She shuts the door behind her and follows. Each door shutting is a clue to keep following and she does. When she gets to the garden, all is silent. She looks around and almost screams when a hand is placed on her shoulder. As she turns, Kieran holds up both of his hands. She sighs and then looks around. 

“Why are you up?” she asks him.

Kieran rubs his arms to ward off the cold, “I heard something. In the garden. Isn’t that why you’re awake?”

“I guess.” Abelas says and looks down at her rabbit, “But whatever woke me up is gone now. I don’t know where it went.”

Kieran moves around her and then asks, “What is that room?”

“What room?” Abelas asks and turns to face him, following his pointed finger. She shrugs her shoulders, “It used be a room of worship here for the Elvhen gods. But it’s only used by the Elvhen people here who believe and go to pray there. It’s not in use at night.”

Kieran frowns, “Do you think it went in there? Or maybe it went into the room where my mother put her mirror?”

“Mirror?” Abelas says and Kieran smiles wide. He drags her to the room with the mirror and as they stand in front of it, it begins to glow.And she feels something tugging her toward it. As she reaches out to touch the glowing glass, her hand goes through it and she jerks back. She remembers the mirror she saw near the Storm Coast. The visions. She looks at Kieran who looks too awake and too excited.

“It went through the mirror!”

Abelas looks down at her hand, “I don’t think we should play with the mirror.”

“Why not?”

Abelas shivers. The mirror had trapped Falon’Din, the others. Her, once upon a time before a small sliver of her soul had gotten out along with Falon’Din. She takes a step back and Kieran turns to look at her, “What if we get stuck?”

“Stuck?” he pauses for a moment and then looks at the mirror and smiles, “Not unless someone uses magic to seal it back up.”

“What are you two doing up so late?” a voice asked from the doorway. They both jumped and turned, and Solas looked at them as he held up an orb of light. He had a raised eyebrow at them and a hand on his hip. Abelas could see another man, eerily similar to Solas, standing in the same way, face twisted in rage and a different spell in his hands. She grabbed Kieran by his wrist and pulled him away, pushing past Solas. Solas watched them go with a frown on his face and turned to look at the mirror. 

He shut the door firmly behind him and went back his room. Kieran promised her to meet in the morning and Abelas told him with a yawn that she had to meet with her tutor and Kieran said he would meet her anyway. Which he did. In the middle of her lessons. Abelas and her tutor didn’t mind, but her tutor told him that he must be quiet as they did math. Kieran promised and when the lessons were over he asked her to come and play with him. She did.

It felt nice to be seven for once instead of the Herald. As they kicked and threw the little ball Kieran had found around in the garden, she threw it over his head and it rolled out of her sight. They chased after it and found it in front of the mirror, along with Solas. Abelas bit her cheek. Solas had his hands behind his back and kicked the ball behind him toward them. Kieran picked up the ball and frowned at Solas.

“Does mother know you’re in here with her mirror?” Kieran asked him as he rolled the ball between his hands. Solas turned to look at them.

“Does your mother know you tried to use it and to take Abelas with you through it?” Solas asked him with a little smirk.

Abelas itched her leg with one of her feet, “We were just looking.”

“Looking leads to thoughts, and thoughts lead to actions which have consequences. Dire consequences.” Solas said and rubbed at his wrist as he moved to stand in front of them, “I have a mind to tell your mother, Kieran, and Maraas as well. I’m sure Cullen would be remiss if I don’t tell him.”

Kieran frowned and stuck his tongue out at Solas, “Mother will just tell us to be careful. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“How like children,” Solas said as he leaned down at the waist to look at them, “to say that without knowing what they do not know.” Abelas glared at him and then kicked her foot out at him. He moved his leg away and her foot missed. She could feel her lower lip tremble as she spoke to him, her words angry and hurt.

“You would know, Fen’harel.” she wiped at her eyes, “Because of you everything was ruined and you don’t even seem to be apologetic about it. You caused this! You are the man who sold the world!”

Solas stood up straight and looked down at them, “She told you the truth.”

“My grandmother did tell us. Everything. Abelas knew for a long time but didn’t want to believe it. Mother doesn’t want to believe it either.” Kieran glared down at his ball, “Why did you do it? I...I have so little in terms of memories. The event itself is...fuzzy.”

Abelas looked at Kieran, gesturing to Solas, her face twisted in pain as she spoke, “He did it because that’s just who he is. He had hoped that once he killed us all everything would be like how he wanted it but it didn’t work. And now here we are again and he  _ hates  _ it. And so many of us has been reborn. You, me, Hawkes baby, and who knows who else!”

“History does not set us free from who we are suppose to be, Abelas.” Solas said and crossed his arms over his chest, a stern frown on his face, “It reveals to us that the future we set out for is not the one that we will end up in. The past, however long ago the past is or will become, was once the future. But once the future has come and gone, you can not change it. You were once Falon’Din and now you are Lavellan.” 

Kieran looked at Solas and shook his head, “She wasn’t Falon’Din. She was his daughter. But a lot of her soul was lost so Falon’Din filled the space. She’s something different.” He grabbed at Abelas and held her hand as he kept a stern chin at Solas, “And what you did was wrong.”

Solas snapped his teeth at them and the door to the room snapped shut behind them and they could feel his magic pushing on them. They both took a step back, holding up their arms as the magic swirled around them and pushed down into them. Kieran dropped the ball and held tighter to Abelas. Abelas could feel the door pushing into her back as Solas sneered down at them. The mirror was glowing behind Solas and casting the room into an eerie light. His voice was harder and it seemed to boom as he spoke down at them. 

“The dreams of youth are the regrets of maturity. Dreams are my speciality. Through dreams, I influence mankind.” 

Kieran yelled at him, “And is this the world you wanted?” 

“Sometimes to achieve the world one desires, one must take regrettable measures. There are few regrets sharper than watching  _ fools _ squander what you sacrificed to achieve.” 

Abelas lowered her arm and took a step toward him, her face pinched in rage. Solas looked at her and saw his brother. No matter how many times she was reborn she  _ always  _ looked like his brother. She shook her head as she snapped at him, “Was the risk worth it?”

“Are you not the same, Abelas? Would you would risk everything you have in the hope that the future is better? What if it isn't? What if you wake up to find that the future you shaped is worse than what was? Neither of can even imagine the torment I felt when I woke to this world and found it worse than the one I left. But I have come to right the wrongs that sprung up in my absence.” 

Kieran had been pulled when Abelas moved, but he took his own step and pulled her with him. The mirror was getting brighter behind Solas as they yelled at each other. He stomped his foot as he spoke, “You mean the holes from Mythal and Falon’Din? And everyone else that the people sing to and hope that their prayers are answered?” 

“I do not believe they sing songs about Falon’Din and his vanity.” Solas hissed at them, “His appetite for adulation was so great he started  _ wars  _ to amass more followers. The blood of those who wouldn’t bow low filled lakes with blood as wide as  _ oceans _ . And you children sit here with the audacity to judge me and what I did for the good of our people?”

Abelas scowled at him, “You’re an animal.” 

“We are all animals, my lady. Most are too afraid to see it!”

The door opened and Cullen gave Solas a hard look, “Why are you three yelling?”

“A question of history,” Solas said as he moved past Cullen, “we have not settled the argument by any means.”

Cullen looked at Kieran and Abelas, “Is that true?”

Abelas nodded her head, “Yeah.” 

As Solas walked away, Cullen shook his head and went to speak with him as they walked down the hallway. Kieran frowned after them and then looked down at their held hands. Abelas was glaring at the mirror. Kieran looked at her with a raised eyebrow, “What are you thinking?” 

“We need to go through the mirror. Something is on the other side that he didn’t want us to see. So we are going to see it.” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Keiran said with a smile., “Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

*************************

The moon was a grin on a blanket of stars as Kieran and Abelas stood in front of the mirror, once more holding hands. Kieran looked into the shimmering light of the glass and then at Abelas, “What happens now?”

“The truth.” Abelas said firmly and placed her hand on the glass. The mirror was like water and moved around as they passed through it. And once they went through it, they looked around at the world before them. Broken mirrors, black glass, some of them had tree branches growing out of them and others still looked like red lyrium had corrupted them. Abelas looked around them and then at Kieran, “Do you think...the mirrors were doors?” 

Kieran held his head, “I...I think so. I remember...I remember going through one and entering a library. I was in the library...talking to you about...something.”

“Something important?” 

“Someone died.” Kieran admitted and wandered to one of the mirrors that was dead and cold, “I think you. Or maybe someone else.” 

Abelas frowned and looked down at her feet, “What happened to us?” 

“A lot.” a voice said from the darkness and they both jumped toward each other and watched as the man walked from the shadows to stand in front of them. He bowed to them and then sat down on the small potted plant holding a dead tree, “I suppose introductions are in order since you might not know me like this yet.” 

“That would be nice.” Kieran says and pulls Abelas back toward the mirror.

“Leto Varania Hawke.” he says and points to the red war point over his nose, “In honor of my mother.” Leto had his mother's hair and his fathers eyes and the smirk of a man who knew he was doing something wrong, “But I’m here for a different reason.” 

Kieran looked at him for a long moment, “You’re from the future.” 

“I am.” 

Abelas frowned, “Why are you here?” 

“You two told all of us to not worry, that everything was going to happen just like it should.” Leto told them, “But I didn’t think it would and I was right. Fen’harel is laying a good game of liar, but his patience is waning. If you two are this age now...if I’m doing my math right, the end is closer than anyone can say. And when this war ends, a new one will be coming.” 

“Between us?” Kieran asked. 

Leto shook his head, “A different war. A different man with delusions of godhood. A different threat. But that war, unlike this one, exposes you both as what you really are.” 

Abelas looks around them, “It makes people wonder, doesn’t it? What we could do and it makes them afraid.” 

“Yeah, it does. It makes it where everyone from everywhere, starts wondering how and who and why. And the witch hunt gets spooky. When I told the older versions of you about what I was going to do, you both just looked at me and said ok. Like it was no big deal. And I figured out why. You two got smart and they could never find you.” 

Kieran looked at Abelas, “So...why come and talk to us then?” 

“To give you a warning.” 

Abelas licked her lips, “About what?” 

“Fen’harel.” 

*************************

Cullen knocks on the door to the room Solas sleeps in when he is not in the library. He waits for a long moment before Solas bids him enter. Cullen makes sure to shut the door behind him, this was not for prying ears. Solas is slumped in a large chair, eyes narrowed at the fire his feet hovered in front of. It was odd to see a man usually so well put together look like a sullen drunk slumped in his chair. Cullen stood to his left, arms crossed and a frown on his face. Solas waved his hand at Cullen as he spoke, “To what do I owe the honor?” 

“Abelas and Kieran,” Cullen tells him, “are children. I will admit that children can sometimes grate on the nerves, but that is no reason to yell at them if they have done nothing wrong, Solas.” 

Solas chortals and stands to be eye to eye with Cullen as he speaks, “Do you truly know so little, commander?” 

“What do I not know, Solas? Hmm?” Cullen snaps, “Since you know so much, tell me what I do not know that you do.” 

Solas smiles at him and it is a peculiar smile that makes him look both cruel and insane at the same time, “You don’t know about them because your eyes have seen but you have chosen to write it off as a benevolent act of your Maker instead of the opening soliloquy to the end of all of this, all of us.”

“Two children will be the end of the world and not the madman who we have been fighting for over a year?” Cullen scoffed at him. 

Solas grabbed Cullens face and dug his fingers into the soft sections of cheeks while his other hand had an iron grip on Cullens upper arm, “So what we all saw in the Fade was nothing more than a miracle, Cullen? Did you never stop to think of what if it  _ wasn’t  _ and she can do that whenever she wants to? Have you never stopped to wonder what else she could do? What  _ that boy  _ will be able to do? How cruel they could become?” 

“Let me go before I bind your magic.” Cullen said with a glare. Solas laughed as he did so and shook his head as he paced before Cullen, “You need to rest and rethink your priorities. I won’t tell Maraas nor Morrigan for now, but if this happens again I will and they won’t be in the mood to talk; I promise you that.” 

Solas stopped, his back to Cullen, “Do you know why she survived the Conclave? Why the boy lived even though he had the soul of an Archdemon inside of him? Why their magic is like nothing you have ever seen before? The answer is right in front of you, in front of all of you, and you try to tell yourself that they are children and their actions are weighed differently than any other mages because of who they are. Heed me, Cullen. Children are cruel, but their cruelty is born from not knowing, which once they know, that cruelty is a habit.”

“They are not cruel. They are children thrust into a war with no end in sight and since they have the power to even the battlefield we ask of them more than we would ever ask of any child.” Cullen snapped at him and turned him around roughly, “And you speak of them as though they will become...dark gods of fever dreams that leave even ventrans of a thousand war shaking like children in the dark!” 

Solas chuckled and pushed himself away from Cullen, “If only that is all they would become. No, no, they will become worse than that. But no matter, my words reach the ears of the deaf as he leads the blind to the end with him willingly. Leave my room. I have heard your words.” 

“Watch your mouth, Solas,” Cullen said with a snap of his fingers at him, “I promise you that no one else here is worried about an imagined dark god.” 

*************************

Abelas tightens her armor around her legs when she feels it and she stops, looking out over the broken city that had once been the capital of the Empire long since dead. Kieran is reading his book when he asks her, “Leto?” 

“He is just like his mother.” she chuckles and ties off her leg braces and stand, testing the joints of her armor, “I can feel him coming to meet me, finally.” 

“After all these years?” Kieran says jokingly, “We must put out the best tableware then and serve the best wine.” 

Abelas shook her head with a smile, “Kieran.” 

“My cousin has fixed the dales, by the way. The grass is growing wonderfully he says.” Kieran tells her as he stands, “Leto got the rivers and holy sites back to at least functional. Tht nice Qunari is getting her country and her countrymen back to the land they came from. Oh, and Sera is making a mess of some small government too. Just that I would let you know before you and him had your fight.” 

Abelas gently cupped his face and made him look at her, “Kieran, I will be fine. This is a fight I don’t plan on losing and even if I did, I’ll just come back again. So don’t worry about me. If I know Leto, he’s telling us all of this anyway and once we know it, we plan it out. So be still, and know I will come back.” 

“Always so confident.” Kieran scoffed and pressed a kiss into her palm, “Don’t die. Life would be a little boring without my only friend.” 

Abelas smiled and hugged him, he hugged her back just as harshly. 

*************************

Leto cleans the last bit of dirt from under his nails and then sighs, “So that’s it, that’s all I know. But I felt that you needed to know that.” 

“Solas is...like us?” Kieran rubs at his head, “Or...not like us?”

Abelas shakes her head, “He wasn’t born like us, he was  _ made  _ like us. But his power isn’t connected to the soul. He was just a bannerman of the original.” 

“Yep,” Leto says and stands with a grunt as he cracks his back, “and I left before the fight between you two and I need to get back. Take my words and win.” 

Abelas and Kieran cover their eyes as he glows white as the sun and then is gone. They leave the mirror and the sun is rising over the castle walls. Kieran looks at Abelas and asks softly, “What now?” 

“I don’t know.” Abelas tells him and looks down at her hands, “But I know that we need to win this war first.” 


	22. Varric and Bianca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit.

To be honest, he didn’t think he’d ever see her this far up a mountain and looking like a cat who caught the canary. But there she was. Talking to Josie like nothing in the world was wrong and she hadn’t waved to him when she had come in like she owned the place. He needs a stiff drink and to go see Broody, Hawke and her little family. But that plan goes up in flames when she comes to sit at his table and smiles at him. He wants to get up and be done with this, but he is a man grown and this  _ thing  _ between them died a long time ago but it just wouldn’t stay dead sometimes. So he stays seated and smirks back at her. She shakes her head with a chuckle and picks up one of the pages that he had scratched almost to pieces.

“The writing progressing well then?” 

He taps his quill on his current page, “More or less. Turns out a one hundred percent accurate recount of this shit show is easier to listen to than to write down.”

“You said much the same thing about Magister Hawke and her story.” she tells him and slides the torn page back toward him, “I need your help, Varric.”

He twirls his quill around his fingers, “Bianca, does your husband know you came to see me? Or that you’re here?” 

“He knows enough,” she says with a flick of her wrist, “I need you to help me. Some goons got ahold of an old Taig full of red lyrium. And since you have such a stick up your ass about it, I figured you’d helped me out.”

Varric puts his quill down and gathers his papers, “I need to tell the lady in charge. I can’t just up and leave whenever I want.” 

Bianca leans back in her chair, “I won’t be leaving for a few days. Try and plead your case quick, huh?” 

*************************

Abelas is sitting in front of the mirror when Solas finds her. He closes the door behind him and stands in front of it. She can see his reflection and she doesn’t care. She has a tight grip on her rabbit and around her legs which have been pulled up to her chest. This has been a long time coming. 

“When you were born,” Solas says softly so no one passing by could hear him, “the first time, you didn’t cry or scream or even wiggle. Falon’Din thought you dead but you were not. You lived safely and happily. And you were a holy terror. So I killed you on your throne.”

Abelas doesn’t turn to look at him as she answers, “I saw. In The Fade. The memory clings there even now. Why?”

“You would have grown into something horrible. Something worse than  _ death.  _ I had to save us. Save our people.” 

Abelas meets his eyes in the mirror, “You killed me when I wasn’t much older than I am now. What could I have done to you that was so bad?” 

“You sealed my magic.” Solas tells her tightly. 

Abelas stands and turns to look at him, “You did it first though. When you ruined the veil, when you put the barrier up around The Fade, you sealed  _ everyone's  _ magic in the worst way possible.”

“I did what I had to do for the  _ good  _ of everyone!” Solas snaps at her. 

Abelas moves to stand in front of him and moves him away from the door, “You did what you had to do to make yourself feel special. Don’t treat me like a kid.” 

“You are a child.” Solas hisses at her. 

Abelas stops on the space between the room and the hallway, then turns to look at Solas, “And children grow up. I’ve outgrown you, Fen’Harel.” 

*************************

Varric talks to Maaras and she doesn’t even have to think twice before she says she’ll go with him. He rubs the back of his neck as he sighs. Maaras looks at him with a turn of her head and then closes her ledger that Josephine had dropped off earlier in the day. Varric takes a seat and looks at his feet. He owes her an explanation. 

“Bianca…”

Maaras looks down at the desk, “How long have the two of you been together?” 

“Well,” Varric chuckles, “if you want to split hairs, we’re not. Usually, there’s a continent between us at all times. We write letters, now and then we manage to meet up, I don’t know if that’s  _ together.  _ Shit it’s been, what, fifteen years? Great, now I feel old. Thanks.”

Maaras raises an eyebrow at him and Varric finally looks up. She turns her chair just so she can look at him sideways, “You said she was in the Merchants Guild. What makes it such a danger to her, Varric?” 

Varric gives her a smirk, “To be fair, it’s more of a danger to  _ me _ . Technically, we’re not supposed to be within three hundred leagues of each other. If it got back to the Guild that we were seen together, they’d freeze my assets and have me killed. Maybe not in that order.”  __

Maaras gives him a smirk back, “What in the world did you do to cause that?” 

“We almost started a clan war.” Varric says with a shrug of his shoulder, “Does it matter? I can’t change it now.”

Maaras looks down at her book and uses her nail to draw patterns into the leather, “How do you know Bianca?” 

“I met her years ago,” Varric tells her, “when she still lived in Kirkwall. And I was looking for someone with...mechanical skills. Bianca is, without a doubt, the most brilliant smith you’ll ever meet. I haven’t seen her since she got married and moved to Oralis.” 

Maaras shoots him a look, shock clear in her eyes, “Bianca is married? Somehow I thought that the two of you had a history.” 

“Bianca’s family are Kalnas—surface dwarves so conservative, they don’t take a piss without asking the Ancestors first.” Varric says with a sneer and then shakes his head, “They picked out a Smith Caste boy for her. Wealthy, respected, has a great anvil collection. The perfect husband. I heard the wedding was lovely. The one that Bianca actually showed up for, anyway.” 

Maaras looks out the window overlooking the back courtyard. She sees Abelas leave the room with the mirror in it. She remembers her “wedding” back when she was under The Qun. When she had started her first moon blood, they had gotten her ready to be married. The man who was her first, he was kind as he could be. Her wedding night was short with him. After that, it was a long chain of warriors and children born to be tools. 

“We’ll need help. Go and see who else wants to come.” Maaras tells him. Outside she sees Solas leave the room as well. She narrows her eyes. It’s time for them to talk.

*************************

Kieran uses the mirror to drag the memories of the old times to play before his eyes. And what he sees makes him so angry. And he sees something interesting. Fen’Harel drives a dagger down into Abelas’ chest from her first life. But she lifts her hands, paper thin and covered in her own blood. She grabbed his face and black veins spread across his face. He drops dead as Abelas lays dying. Kieran is wide eyed as he watches the soul of Fen’Harel leave the other body and it flies away. Solas is there then, a new memory, a man in priest robes, and he speaks to the soul for a long time before he accepts it into his body. He grits his teeth and goes to find Abelas. She needs to know. She is in the gazebo doing her school work when he finds her. 

“Abelas!” he says softly as he sits next to her and speaks in a hushed tone. Solas has been hovering near them too much and Solas didn’t need to know that Kieran now knows the truth. 

She looks up and raises an eyebrow at him, “What?” 

“Solas isn’t Fen’Harel.” 

She shakes her head, “I’m...sorry?” 

So Kieran tells her and the more she listens the more her face settles into blank disappointment and cold rage. 

“The spell isn’t complicated, I can teach it to you so you can see it.”  Kieran tells her. 

Abelas looks down at her papers, “I should be surprised. But I’m not. Solas is a liar. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

Abelas looks at him and smiles, “Because the world is inherited by the generation you raise. Solas isn’t the future. We are and we’ll fix everything.” 

“Promise?” Kieran says as he extends his pinky finger to her.

She wraps her own around his, “I promise.” 

A little spark of white light binds itself around their fingers. But they don’t notice the magic that now binds them to their word. 

*************************

Maaras grabs him as he is trying to make his way to the library and drags him to Cullens tower where the both of them give him a level look. 

Cullen waste no time, “We need to talk.” 

“Of course.” Solas says as he puts his arms behind his back, “I imagine it has to do with Abelas. Am I correct?” 

Maaras sneers at him as she grips the desk behind her, nails making marks in the wood, “Ever since we met you, you watch her in a way that makes me think you either want to kill her or abuse her sexually. Since she never  _ smells  _ like you and distress, I want to know why you look at her like that.” 

“I worry.” he says casually. 

Cullen and Maaras look at each other before he speaks, “Worry? The news Morrigan gave us is...not appealing, true. But we can win this war. What in the world is making you worry so much, Solas?” 

“What she can become should she take this victory as a sign she is all powerful.” Solas says sternly, “Children dream of things that will never be and if those dreams are not checked quickly while they are still thoughts, then they can fester and breed.”

Maaras shakes her head, “Abelas dreams of a future where she is happy and safe. Why would we discourage that?”

“Is that all?” Solas wonders and then moves slowly as he speaks, “What happens when we win this war? The people will latch onto this idea of her as this holy chosen hero? What will happen to her? She will become when they praise her and forget the people who helped her?” 

Cullen looks down at his feet, arms crossed, “You think it will go to her head and nothing we say will make her think anything different. And her power will become uncontrollable.” 

“History does not set us free from who we are suppose to be. It reveals to us that the future we set out for is not the one that we will end up in. The past, however long ago the past is or will become, was once the future. But once the future has come and gone, you can not change it. She was once Falon’Din and now she is Abelas, that is all you and I understand.” Solas seems to scold them as he turns on them. 

Maaras gets up and away from the desk before she grabs Solas by his shoulders and stares him down, “We won’t let her become something horrible. Not if we keep her on the straight and narrow. She’ll grow up happy and good.” 

“How can you be sure?” Solas asks her as he gets out of her grip and leaves. 

*************************

Blackwall is making a wooden sword that looks eerily familiar. Varric has to take a second to look at it before he can think of it. It looks like Cullens sword, lion headed hilt and everything. Blackwall looks at him as he smooths the edges. 

“Abelas is learning how to sword fight,” he explains to Varric, “Cullen is teaching her and that boy, Kieran.” 

Varric gives a low whistle, “That one going to be her sword?” 

“Said that she liked the way his sword looked.” 

Varric chuckles, “So the other one is for Kieran then. Looks larger and meaner.” 

“Said his father had a sword like that.” Blackwall said as he blew the shavings off of the wooden sword, “His aunt and his father were the Heroes of Ferelden. His father helped his mother to keep the soul of the Archdemon. His aunt kept them alive while fighting it with her own sword. Drew me out what it look liked.” 

Varric goes to the corner where they sword is, and it stands as tall as him. A great sword then. That made sense, since both of the Mahariel siblings had been hunters for their clan. He flicks the sword and shakes his hand after. The sword is thick, “I was wondering if you’re busy.” 

“You tell me.” 

Varric chuckles, “Well, I suppose Abelas and her little friend would be put out for having to wait a few more weeks.”

“Lucky for you I’m done.” Blackwall tells him as he puts the sword for Abelas next to the one for Kieran, “What is it you need help with?” 

Varric pats his leg, “Wanna kill red templars and destroy red lyrium?” 

“Do you even have to ask?” Blackwall chuckled. 

*************************

Dorian and Vivienne are getting their nails and feet done when Varric goes up to Vivienne's balcony. They are talking as he hovers near the door, “Lord Dorian, were you injured in the last fight? You appear to be limping.”

“It was a trifle, blasted foot fell asleep upon me.” he says with eyes closed and a lazy hand waves at her. Vivienne takes a sip of her wine with a wide smile on her face. 

She chuckles and speaks with a giddy tone in her voice, “I see. So it is not due to you scuffling with Count Chavon in an unsavory bar brawl?” Dorian opens his eyes and gives her the most scandalized look to which she only gives him a look in turn that says she knows. Dorian gives a huff. 

“Come now. I’d never waste my time expounding such energies in barbarism when there was drinking to be done.” Dorian gives his excuse and Vivienne buys none of it.  

“Then it was another man’s imperium seal embedded into the dear count’s jawline?”

Dorian gives a yawn and checks his nails as he speaks caught in his lie, “Ah yes, I remember the chap now. Dreadful plumage stuffed inside a chartreuse doublet. He deserved far worse for such crimes upon the senses.”

“Most curious as I heard the man was raving about our Inquisitor’s taste in bed partners, with copious references to turnip-implied genitalia. The scuttle-butt is you took it upon yourself to defend her.” Vivienne purrs at him, and Dorian shakes his head as he gets his boots back on and thanks the women for tending to his feet and nails. 

“What? That’s…that’s nonsense. Why would I ever risk my neck for such specious rumors? His shoes were white leather, with crimson stockings to his knees. I deserve a medal for taking out such an atrocity.” he moves down the steps toward the door to the library, the spa women behind him and he nods his head at Varric. Vivienne sips at her wine as he comes to stand in front of her. She doesn’t smile at him she only balances her head on the back of her hand as she speaks to him. 

“And what can I help you with Master Varric?” 

Varric rubs at his neck, “Um...well, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“May I take a guess,” she drawls, “that it has something to do with your friend that came to visit you?” 

Varric nods his head, “It does.” 

She gives him a put upon sigh, “Very well. When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow.” 

*************************

The Thaig of Valammar is old and open. It smells like dampness and old air. The torches on the wall tell them that someone is here. But the whole of it is dim and everything is hard to see. So when they hear Bianca all of them jump. 

“Finally! I started to think you weren’t coming.”

Varric shook his head as she came out of the shadows, “No one said you had to hang out in the creepy cave while you waited.”

“Well, I did wait,” she says as she looks toward the have illuminated building as she speaks, “so let’s make this quick. These idiots are carrying the red lyrium out in unprotected containers. We don’t want to stick around long enough for it to started  _ talking  _ to us.”

Maraas folds arms and raises an eyebrow at her as they walk and talk, “Why do they need to be protected? I thought we were blowing that shit  up for a reason.” 

“Lyrium is incredible dangerous in its raw form. It can kill and even poison dwarves; and we’re resistant to it. Sometimes it explodes with no warning.” Bianca explains as they take care along the thin crumbling path in the path. 

Varric nods his head, “Basically, only crazy people mine lyrium.” 

“The Mining Guild,” Bianca says tightly, “doesn’t just sling it into buckets. It’s carried around in special containers to keep it under control. And that’s normal lyrium. The red stuff is  _ worse.  _ I wouldn’t be surprised if most their miners die just digging it up.”

“You seem to know more about red lyrium than most.” Vivienne said with a raised eyebrow and a sidelong glance. 

“Varric told me about what it did to him and his brother.” Bianca says softly. 

Blackwall gave a sneeze and wiped under his nose as he spoke, “How did you find this operation in the first place? There must hundred of Deep Road entrances.” 

“I’ve used this entrance in the past.” Bianca says with a chuckle as they get closer to the first set of steps leading up toward the Taig, “Varric's not the only surface road to explore the Deep Roads. Though I will admit I was pretty surprised when I came here and found it full of humans.”

Maraas drew her sword as they reached the top of the stairs, “Better get to work.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Bianca says as she leads the way. 

*************************

Abelas and Kieran are out in the back courtyard with their new wooden swords in the early hours of dusk. Cullen and Iron Bull are watching them to make sure they don’t hurt each other. Kieran is taller by inches but Abelas is faster by leagues. Too long on the run and being alone. They are wearing chest pieces and not much else. Cullen is pacing on the outside of the little ring they had set up for the children, speaking loudly like he does the troops. 

“Lower your stance,” he calls out and they complied with his command, “keep your arms lose but your wrist tight!”

Iron Bull nods his head as he watches, leaning on the gazebo, “ Be aware of your melee scenario. Situational awareness is key to winning the fight. Your mind needs to not only be aware that you need to prepare to fight, but also to quickly take in your surroundings and calculate how to turn the environment to your advantage. If you are taken by surprise, you may be beaten before you had a chance to draw your sword.”

“Trust your gut feelings. Having a feeling that something is just not right? That you are being watched? It is just too quiet, or something is out of place, or you hear something but not sure what? Honor your intuition; it may well save your life.” Cullen tells them as he rubs his face and then sighs heavily. 

Iron Bull clicks his tongue, “Be aware of threats. If you are not aware of attackers, you are already at a disadvantage. This includes being observant of odd or suspicious behavior, awareness of your surroundings, and often just your gut feeling.”

“Be aware of your fighting situation. A fight by two thugs in a darkened alley is different from a tournament fight. A tournament fight is controlled and done with a code of honor. If you are attacked on the street you are likely fighting for your life, and should not hold back on dishonorable tactics such as kicking, throwing sand in an opponent's eyes, or trickery.” Cullen say and then takes a deep breath. 

Iron Bull itches his cheek as he speaks, “ Drop the dramatics. Most sword fights are won with simple, well timed and well placed blows and parries. Flashy elaborate moves are generally best left to martial arts movies. There are practical purposes to certain showy maneuvers in the right situation in the right opportunity. However, unless you are an expert you are more likely to leave yourself open for an embarrassing defeat. For instance, do not spin in a circle. It may look cinema-ready but leaves your hard-to-defend back open to blows.” 

“ One possible useful purpose: intimidation. Showing a less experienced fighter that you are able to easily pull off fancy maneuvers can crack the other person's confidence. Making the opponent question his or her abilities against you is a huge psychological win.” Cullen says as he enters the little ring and moves them to correct stances and levels out their swords. 

Bull claps his hands together as though he has just remembered something, “Another good tactic: distraction. If your opponent is busy watching you dance around, that might be the time you need to find an opening in the defense.” 

“Assess your melee environment.” Cullen tells them as he moves back out of the ring, “Every sword fight takes place somewhere. Awareness of where you are can help access possible disadvantages, and be able to turn the physical environment to your advantage. If you can maneuver yourself so that you can attack and/or protect yourself more effectively—prepare an ambush, force your opponent against a dead end, hide behind a boulder—you are more likely to win.”

Bull speaks slowly as he adds onto what Cullen had finished saying, “Some sample environmental elements to consider:  Bright sunlight can blind, if it is at the right angle and the right blindness. Forcing your opponent to have the sun in his or her eyes may make it much harder to see you. Dark environments can conceal, either you or your opponent. Forests have a host of opportunities for concealment. Trees makes it difficult or impossible to execute massed defenses such as "shield walls" or offenses like typical battlefield formations. Natural barriers such as cliffs, ocean, or walls cut off mobility and escape routes. Sword Fighters, especially in armor, do not typically do well in mud, marshy areas, ice, or deep, soft snow.

“Battlefields require acting as part of a team, even more than an as individual. You will depend on the people around your for survival, and to act rashly alone means likely death for you and your comrades. Urban environments typically encompass enclosed spaces, such as rooms or streets.” Cullen tacks on at the end. 

Bull moves toward them and grabs Kieran lightly by his forearms and moves his sword into Abelas’ slowly as he speaks, “Once the fight begins, find the flow of battle and attempt to control it. This is just a fancy way of summing everything else in this article up in one sentence but it's very important in its own right too. If you succeed in finding the flow and controlling it you have a very good chance of almost directly influencing the entire fight directly through you actions. It is a difficult concept to grasp but try the next time you spar during practice.”

“ Find the patterns and flow from one move to the next and try to control your opponent. Generally fighters fall into strikes, defenses, and tactics that are most familiar and comfortable to them. It takes many years and lots of practice to accomplish this but if you do this then the battle is already half yours.” Cullen has gone to Abelas and is doing to her what Bull is doing to Kieran. When Bull lifts the sword high up and bring it down lightly, Cullen helps Abelas block it just as lightly. 

Bull makes Kieran move forward, “ Draw your sword before you engage. A trained sword swing takes a fraction of a second, so drawing your sword can take precious time. Also, your sword is of minimal value hanging in its sheath.”

“ On the other hand, if your sword and scabbard are suitable for a quick draw, and you practice, this can be a great surprise attack. It can also intimidate by showing you are a highly trained fighter.” Cullen makes Abelas pull back and block the slow attacks. 

When Cullen makes Abelas move to push Kieran back, Bull takes Kieran and does so, blocking her attacks slow as they are, “This is especially applicable to the Templar sword which has styles for attacking people while drawing the blade.”

“Remain calm and confident. Poise can decide a fight as surely as the sword, and is an effective stratagem. If you are nervous or frightened, your opponent may try to take advantage of your lack of confidence and attempt to goad you into making a fatal mistake. Cool warriors tend to make others wary, unsettled, and ideally fearful.” Cassandra calls out as she makes her way to them and they all look at her. They greet her and she comes to watch. 

Bull keeps talking as they slowly let go of the children and let them play fight, “ You can still stay calm, but prefer to show aggressiveness and intimidate your opponent instead, or even pretend to be scared, or even make him or her laugh in the hope of lulling your enemy into making a fatal error.”

“Each strength has a weakness. For example, a tall fighter may have longer reach—but it may take longer to throw a shot, and height is a disadvantage in an area with a low ceiling height.” Cullen says as he comes to stand between Bull and Cassandra. 

Cassandra is watching their feet as she speaks, “Each weakness may have a strength. An inexperienced fighter is also one that is difficult to predict.”

“Relax!” Cullen stresses. 

Bull gives a snort at the look on Cullens face but keep coaching the two children,  “The natural reaction to sword combat is panic. However, if you are tight, in a frazzled state of mind you cannot act with speed, control, or mental clarity; this can be fatal. With practice, you will learn to achieve a state of calm concentration in the midst of danger. Your mind will learn to focus on what is. Find and maintain a distance based on a balance of your reach and your opponent. One's "reach" is the weapon plus the length of the sword swing. A long arm with a short sword could equal the reach of a shorter arm and a longsword.”

“What is comfortable will be based on a number of factors: your height, sword length, sword style, and fighting style all affect your proper distance.” Cassandra adds her two cents to their very limited training with wooden swords.

Cullen has his hands tightly clenched as Abelas moves out of the way of a too quick sword swipe, “If you have a shorter reach, generally get in close and stay within his or her guard. Do not let him or her push you away. An opponent with longer reach will not be as easily able to get a good swing in, and you can usually swing faster than a person with a longer reach.” 

“If you are using a longer sword, keep your distance. A longer sword makes it possible to keep the opponent farther away and thus less likely to make contact.” Bull explains as Kieran tries to get some distance from Abelas and her short sword.

Cassandra is eyeing them critically as she speaks, “If about the same, generally stay about where it would only take one large step forward to attack.”

 

“Balance, keep your body balanced so you can strike or parry without being hit. Always have your feet shoulder wide and when you move, move so your legs spread apart. Never have your feet close to each other. Hold your sword so you can handle it with ease. Watch your opponent's movements and learn when he moves in to attack and launch a preemptive strike a counter. Be quick. When you parry you keep the blade close to you so you don't stretch out to block and always try to counter your opponent's attack.” Cullen says as Kieran blocks hit after hit from Abelas. 

Bull smirks as he watches them trying so hard to be fighters even though they are mages and none of this will ever be needed for them, “Your footing and proper foot placement is key for balance. The more of the sole of your foot touches the ground the more grounded you are giving you greater strength in your attacks. To keep your balance try to slide your feet rather than lift them up and stepping. Leaning forward lifting up your heel also reduces your grounding so be cautious with how your feet are placed and used during each strike because you give great opportunity for your opponent to knock you over. Keep your posture straight and your chest and torso forward which will keep you from losing your balance during your swings and allows you to avoid with a simple twist any blows with ease rather than having your torso turned sideways locking yourself to only be able to evade an attack in only one direction. Make the first strike count. Although a skilled fighter can keep up combat for extended periods, a real sword fight is quite often determined by the first blow—often decided in less than 30 seconds.”

“Be sure of your attack, for it is likely that if you miss with your first strike, your opponent will take advantage, and end the fight himself with a fatal blow. Engage with care. If you charge in recklessly, especially against a trained fighter, he may just wait and let you impale yourself on his sword. By engaging carefully, you are able to maintain control and focus at all times. This also will allow your best defense which most of the time is just sidestepping or side sliding if you go too fast, your opponent's attack potentially saving your life and allowing the opening for your winning blow. Dodging works extremely well in an open space or if you are quick, an indoor room. Keep your elbows bent, and close to your body.” Cullen says as Kieran begins to get the upper hand. 

Cassandra runs her hand through her hair, “An inexperienced fighter tends to stretch out his arms in order to keep his opponent further off, but this will hurt your ability to thrust and parry quickly. Extend your sword towards your opponent, not your arms. Have a strong defense. Missing just one block or parry can be fatal, so protect yourself well. Maintain your sword in a position that runs from the bottom of your torso to the top of your head. This is a middle position, suitable for any skill level, that will enable you to respond to an attack with reasonable speed, and also gives you many angles for your own strikes. Keep your weapon ready.”

“Generally, your sword should be extended a comfortable distance away from your body, and toward your opponent's throat, or perhaps his eye. This is referred to as putting him on point. It serves as a ward against an opponent who must, after all, get through your sword first, and can be quite intimidating, especially to an inexperienced fighter.” Cullen says as Kieran and Abelas smack each other in the temple and drop to the grass. 

*************************

As they reach the bottom level they come to a door. Bianca looks it over for a moment before turning to smirk at Varric, “I built these doors. Probably locked it from the other side when they heard the ruckus we were making.” 

With very little effort on her part, the door was soon open. All of them except Varric looked at each other.

“You’ve been here often enough to renovate the cave, my dear?” Vivienne asks her with a tilt to her head that screams of being high born. 

“You all already know I used this entrance in the past.” Bianca defends herself with a scowl on her face, “I don’t know if Varric ever told any of you but the Merchants Guild is cutthroat. Literally. I built the doors to keep rivals from following me down here and arranging  _ accidents _ .”

Blackwall bent down and fixed his shin guard as he spoke, “I guess it's a good thing you came along then.” 

“I get that a lot.” Bianca says tiredly and with a hint of sarcasm to her tone.

*************************

High up, crowning the grassy summit of a swelling mount whose sides are wooded near the base with the gnarled trees of the primeval forest stands the old chateau of long since dead elves and their gods. For centuries its lofty battlements have frowned down upon the wild and rugged countryside about, serving as a home and stronghold for the proud house whose honored line is older even than the moss-grown castle walls. These ancient turrets, stained by the storms of generations and crumbling under the slow yet mighty pressure of time, formed in the ages of feudalism one of the most dreaded and formidable fortress in all of Thedas. From its machicolated parapets and mounted battlements, barons, counts and even would be warmongering kings had been defined, yet never had its spacious halls resounded to the footsteps of the invader. But since those glorious years it has all changed. A poverty but little above the level or dire want, together with a pride of name that forbids its alleviation by the pursuits of commercial life, had prevented the scions of the bloodline from maintaining their estates in pristine splendour; and falling stones of the walls, the overgrown vegetation in the parks, the dry and dusty moat, the ill paved courtyards, and toppling towers without a well as the sagging floors, the worm-eaten wainscott, and the faded tapestries within, all tell a gloomy tale of fallen grandeur. As the ages passed, first one, then another of the four great turrets were left to ruin, until at last but a single tower housed the sadly reduced descendants of the once mighty lords of this place.  
“Fen’Harel.” Falon’Din calls him as he is looking out at the home of his brother during the height of his power. He chooses to ignore him; him and all the others looking at him as he gazes at the end of an empire. He knows that Mythal has her arms crossed behind him. This has been a long time coming, and with the mirror now within his grasp it can happen. After all, so many of them had been chosen as avatars for their gods. They had become gods in turn. 

A woman with dragon wings and horns glares down from her lofty perch all around the room. This is a new place for Hawke. He has seen many places but he has never seen or even heard whisper of this place until this moment. Many elves sleep inside glass boxes. They open their eyes, only a crack and look at him for a few moment before closing in sleep once more. They do not care that he is here. A dreamer is a dreamer and they have seen many dreamers who wander past with no destination and no ulterior motives.

He doesn’t turn around as he speaks, “You are going to finish it soon.” 

“I am.” Falon’Din admits easily. 

Mythal speaks then, voice firm, “This has been a long time coming, and you will not stop it. Kieran and Abelas must embrace their destiny.” 

“The end of this little speed is closing in.” Falon’Din says softly, “Soon the end of you shall follow.” 

Solas turns and looks at him, “Assuming they live afterwards.” 

*************************

Cullen is doing his paperwork in the middle of the night when he hears the door to Abelas’ room open and she slides out to go to their bed, climbing in tucking, her face into the large pillow he had gotten Maaras. Her rabbit is tucked into her body. Cullen gets up and adds more logs to the fire. 

“Cullen?” 

He turns to look at the small lump on the bed, “Yes?”

“Did you tell me a story about a rabbit who became real?”

Cullen smiles and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, “I did. You were sick, almost dead. I didn’t think that you heard me.” 

“I remember...someone tells the rabbit it takes a long time to become real.” 

Cullen takes off his boots and his belt and lies down on his side of the bed, pulling her close and tucking her head under his chin. Like how fathers do to children they love, and he tells his story. 

_ "What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room, "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?" _

_ "Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." _

_ "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. _

_ "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful, "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." _

_ "Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" _

_ "It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse, "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." _

_ "I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. _

Abelas turned and buried her face into Cullens chest, “Am I real?”

“Oh, sweet love,” Cullen cooed and hold her tight, rocking as he feel his tunic dampen with her tears, “you are very real.”

*************************

The Deep Roads key is a bronze looking piece of gaudy metal work. Bianca grabs it and gives a happy sigh of, “There you are! They won’t be able to use this entrance again.” before she locks up the door they had been looking for. Varric gives her a look and she doesn’t turn around when he sternly says her name. She turns slowly though after a moment. 

Maaras looks between them and then says, still softly since The Deep Roads are a known danger to anyone, “That key looks exactly like yours. Why do you have a copy?” 

“Well,” Bianca says as she doesn’t meet their eyes, “funny story! When I got the location, I went and had a look for myself. And then I found the red lyrium...I studied it.” 

Varric makes an angry motion and pushes his hand through his hair, “You know what it does to people!” 

“I was doing you a favor!” Bianca throws back at him, “You want to help your brother, don’t you?! I just...I just wanted to figure it out.” 

Blackwall itches the back of his neck as he asks, “Did you figure it out?” 

“Actually...yes.” Bianca admits with a sad look on her face, “I found out that red lyrium had the Blight, Varric! Do you know what that means?!” 

Varric has his face set into a scowl as he snaps, “What? That two deadly things combine to make something super awful?!”

“Lyrium is alive!” Bianca yells back at him, her face turning red as she argues with him, “Or...something like that. Blight doesn’t affect minerals, only animals. I couldn’t get any further on my own! So I looked for a Grey Warden Mage. Blight and Magic knowledge all in one. I found this guy, Larius, he seemed really interested in helping me out with my research. So I gave him a key.”

Varric seems to think for a moment and then growls, “Larius. That’s the son of a bitch we met at Corypheus’...oh, shit. I knew something seemed off.”

“I didn’t realize until you said you found red lyrium at Haven,” Bianca says as she folds into herself, “I came here...and...well…then I went to you.”

Vivienne cleans her staff as she speaks, “What does that name mean to you, Varric?”

“He was at the Grey Warden prison,” Varric tells them as he rubs his forehead, “where we found Corypheus. And he  _ definitely  _ wasn’t a mage before.”

“You had to know we’d figure it out, Bianca.” Maaras says with a shake of her head, “Why did you insist on coming with us?” 

Bianca rubs at her wrists as she answers, “Varric told me what people were doing with the red lyrium. I...I had to help make this right.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen.” Blackwall sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Varric rounds on him and snaps. 

“Maferath’s balls she couldn’t! I told her  _ exactly  _ how bad this shit was! I told her to keep away from it!” 

Biana gives them a desperate look, “I know I screwed up, but we fixed it! It’s as right as I can make it!” 

“This isn’t one of your machines!” Varric bellows at her as he begins to pace, “You can’t just replace a part and make everything right!”

She snaps back at him, “No but I can try can’t I? Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever? Kicking myself and telling stories of what I should have done? ” 

“As if I would tell stories about my own mistakes.” Varric hisses at her. 

Maaras has reached her limit, “Will the two of you just get a room?” 

“Sorry, Maaras.” Varric sighs and then rubs his face before he shake his head and moves away from Bianca, “We’ve done all we can here, Bianca. You’d better get home before someone misses you.” 

Bianca looked at him with a heartbroken face, “Varric…” 

“Don’t worry about it.” he tells her and then makes his way out of the room they had fought to, leaving the three of them alone with Bianca. 

Bianca is the next to leave but not before giving her parting words, “Get him killed and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs,  _ Inquisitor.”  _

*************************

Abelas is in The Fade, moving her feet through the water of the court that once belonged to her father in a past life. He is sitting behind her on his throne and somewhere in front of her behind a honeycomb shaped wall they are making lyrium. The Fade remembers when no one else was alive to do so. She listens as the mages cast their spell. 

“I made a brand of lyrium,” Falon’Din told her softly as the mages keep going through the memory of what had once been, “for this place only. A form of it so potent that it was often called raw. I made it to help my mages so they would be better equipped to shepard the dead to their final resting place.”

Abelas turns to look at him, “I thought that we were immortal?” 

“We are. But even that which can never die does want to rest for awhile.” he says with a smile, or at least, the shadow of one of his blank face. She has gotten use to the fact that only the shadows of where eyes, mouth, and nose would be. She likes Cullen better. His smile is real and she can see it without having to use her imagination. 

She reaches down into the water and swirls it around her hand, “Who made the red lyrium?” 

“Humans.” Falon’Din says darkly, “Stupid little war mongers who sought to be better at what we had perfected eons before they had crawled up out of the muck.”

She stops playing with the water, “Humans?” 

“Indeed. They sought to perfect that which should not have been tampered with. All of warriors wore it in their veins as we did.” he flips his hand at the wrist, “Power begets power. Think of it as an extension of yourself. You once had the same tattoos of lyrium as I did. As we all did.” 

Abelas turns back to the honeycomb wall, “Does it hurt?” 

“If it isn’t done correctly, yes.” 

Abelas doesn’t look away from the wall, “Can you put them back on me?” 

“When you’re older.” 

*************************

Varric doesn’t turn to look at her as she comes to sit next to him by the fire. He has his hand over his mouth before he speaks, “I’m glad to answers, but...shit. The second she showed up here, I knew, I just...I let this mess happen. I gave her the Thaig. And I’m not good at dealing with shit like this.”

Maaras thinks of the box Cullen had begged her to hide. His Lyrium Kit. He had begged her and begged saying that he needed to be a better man, a bettered Commander, a better father. He had told her that if Abelas ever looked at him like she was  _ disappointed  _ in him he might not be able to survive that. She simply keeps looking at the fire. She only tells Varric the truth. 

“I don’t think anybody does.”

Varric gives a dry chuckle, “No. The point is...I don’t deal with things. If Cassandra hadn’t dragged me here, I’d be in Kirkwall right now. Pretending  _ none  _ of this was happening.”

“No you wouldn’t.” 

Varric covers his eyes and his shoulder shakes with laughter, “Why are you always right? Don’t you ever get sick of it?” 


	23. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He clung to the memory of being a good man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost to the end of this little story. Not quite there, but soon. Enjoy!

She gathers her magic from deep inside of her, pulling it out of her heart and into the world as she lets it hover around her. The tomb that was her birth-right was vast and she had to be smart about how she used her magic or they would never get every single tomb and crystal. She takes deep and even breaths as the portal opens behind her. She can hear him stop cold at seeing her and she shakes her head. 

“Leto,” she scolds him lightly and turns her head to look at him, “tampering with time again. Sometimes I think you have too much of Elgar’nan and his stubborn pride in you.” 

Leto comes to stand just outside of her circle of power and to the right so she can see him, “Did you kill him?” 

“Kill him?” Abelas lets out a chuckle, “No. It’s what he always wanted and what he wanted me to give to him. I did something so much worse.” 

Leto folds his arms over his chest, “Worse than death?” 

“Death…” she gives a chuckle colored with a scoff, “...since the first being took its first shaking steps out into the world, mortality was believed to be punishment set forth by an angry god. A righteous snare to keep mortal men away from ascending to the stars. They were all  _ so  _ wrong. Death is not a wicked thing, nor some holy retribution. A true punishment would be to never know its sweet kiss.” Abelas said as her magic expanded up and out, making a map of the stars around them. 

Leto looked at the magic, moving as though it was alive, and asked, “Where’s Kieran?” 

“Getting the others.” 

Leto nodded his head, “What are you doing?” 

“Do you really want to know?” 

“Yes.” 

Abelas stood up on her bare feet and gave him a wicked smile before lifting her hand that had been marked so long ago high above her and speaking loudly, with all of her might and power, “Awaken from the harshness and be born once more.” 

****************

Cole always heard the voices people had on the inside. Those voices were sometimes easier to listen to than the ones that would come out of their mouths. Their mouths knew how to lie. Their brain didn’t, it made it easier to help the hurt. This hurt was new though. Abelas had many hurts. She didn’t remember many of them, but the wounds had scabbed and scarred over in her mind. 

The hurt had died the moment it had been born, but it was sleeping. Like the Dread Wolf. She often thought about that story that scared her. _ Fen’harel lies dead, dreaming, in his lost city.  _ She liked the one Cullen would tell her about the toy who was so loved it became real. Really real. He was real. He was loved. 

Had been loved. Abelas was loved. And then she wasn’t and then was. She loved him. He wondered if people could see them. The chains on top of each other. Old chains, new chains.

Rusted chains, chains pulled tight by old words and some slack but strong. He wondered if people could see the chains that bound them to others. Abelas had cast her chains far, and they were heavy. Not so heavy as to be slave chains. Light as air and bright as the sun. It hurt to look at the chains she had used to bind her family to her. He had one from her, wrapped lightly as a feather and feeling like spider silk on his fingers, around his wrist and up to his shoulder. 

The old Cole had lost his chains. Rhys and Evangeline had given him chains too. They were around his chest. Abelas had many chains, old and dark and cruel. They were around her heart but her light kept them from snapping her apart. He didn’t like those chains. But she had feared another set of chains. 

Real chains that would weigh her down. Many elves feared those chains. Slavers held little love for anything but money. And the demons had taunted those who had lived with how easy it was to track their clan mates. The hurt is so loud in her head as she makes a crown of sunflowers. Fen’harel doesn’t scar her anymore. She is more afraid of herself than anything else; not even Corypheus scared her as much as herself.

She doesn’t look up as Cullen, Leliana and Josephine walk past them speaking in worried tones. Warden Blackwall has left and only a note speaks of his choices. Abelas finishes the crown of flowers and then stands. She puts it on his head and then looks at where everyone has gone to meet about this sudden disappearance. He can see her thoughts. Just like how he could see Blackwalls thoughts. She knows what she is going to do and nothing is going to stop her. 

“I’ll come with you.” he tells her. Someone needed to be there in case anything went wrong. Maaras and Cullen would be so upset if something happened to her. 

Abelas looks at him and then smiles, “We’ll need one more person.” 

“Sera and Varric aren’t at the meeting.” he tells her. 

Abelas has never smiled so large. Who better to go and get a mistift than the misfits? 

****************

Before the next day dawned their journey to the Gold City was over. The marshes and the desert were behind them. Before them, darkling against a pallid sky, the great mountains reared their threatening heads. Upon the west of the Gold City marched a gloomy range of spirits, the mountains of shadows, and upon the north the broken peaks and barren ridges of Arlathan, grey as ash. But as these ranges approached one another, being indeed but parts of a great wall about the mournful plains, and the bitter inland sea of Falon’Din, they swung out long arms northward; and between these arms there was a deep valley. This was the Black Gate, the entrance to the land of the enemy. High cliffs lowered upon either side and thrust forward from its mouth two sheer hills, black-boned and bare.

The remains of a dragon, one of Mythals’. Upon these bones stood the bare bones of a bridge which had once lead to the Gold City. In days long past they were built by the Gifted Ones, made by Ghilan’nain; they built it because of their pride and power. But their strength failed them and they were pushed back to a small island, and for many years the bridge was never taken care of and had fallen into despair.

Abelas and Kieran walk across it with an air of asureadness while the others double check each step. Leto looks back at their group and the army behind them going back to their ancestral home. The group is once again a full pantheon. There ia Abelas as the god of death Falon’Din, Kieran as Mythal, he is the former patriarch Elgar’nan, while the daughter of Josephine Montilyet—Hermione Montilyet is now Sylaise the goddess of the Hearth—while Dorian Pavus still as handsome as always and comfortable as the god of secrets, Dirthamen. Abelas had told him, he said, that he didn’t have to accept the soul but he did anyway. He said a longer life meant that he had more time to right past wrongs. The god of craft, June, is now the son of Cassandra Pentaghast of Varic Tethas, Anthony. 

Abelas had become a sister in her absence. Ananasi Rutherford had embraced his role as Ghilan’nain and wanting to help his sister had come with them with very little prompting. The girl that Sera had transferred the soul of Anduril goddess of the hunt, to brings up the rear. They only ever call her Red Jenny. Behind her is the best soldiers of their courts before they had been put into the “death sleep” and their marching is soft and sure. The Golden City looms in front of them and Abelas turns to them with a smile. They all stop even as Anansi comes to stand next to his sister, a giant half-Qunari next to a small elf woman. 

Abelas spreads her arms out wide, “Sometimes it’s good to go home.”

“Is it home?” Leto asks. 

Anansi gives him a grin, “It’ll be home once we’re done.” 

Leto looks at the city that stands half buried under the sand and the creeping foliage. Maybe it will be home once they finish. Then he can go get his mother, father and siblings. He wants to show his mother her words of heroism and doing the right thing was always the way to go, no matter how hard it is. His father's firm but smokey voice tells him to be cautious of magic no matter how good someone else with magic appears. He looks at Abelas and her eyes and her face and can  _ feel  _ her power. She could kill them all and yet...and yet...he knows he made the right choice. 

****************

The mirror isn’t used to being used as a portal but it remembers how to be used as such. Granted it spits them out near the docks and is halfway submerged underwater, but they had made it to Orlais. They all slosh out of the water and head for the main square where they can hear someone calling out names and the crowd yelling. The snapping rope puts everything together and they pick up their pace. 

“Cyril Monay,” the man in the mask announced as the last body is dragged away and put on a cart, his voice carriers, “for your crimes against the Empire of Orlais, for the murder of General Vincent  Callier, his wife and their four children along with all of their retainers, you are sentenced to hanged from the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” 

When the man kneeling on the stage doesn’t say anything they move things along. 

Cole looks grief stricken as he whispers, “They’re going to kill him.” 

“Fucked up justice by the rich and noble.” Sera sneers. 

They wrap the rope around the man's neck and tighten it. Just as the man who was speaking raises his hand, they hear Blackwall call out, “STOP!” 

Everyone turns to watch him march onto the stage with anger in his eyes and his back straight. Everyone starts to mutter to each other and the man who was speaking lowers his arm slowly. He meets Blackwall in the middle of the stage and smugly says, “A Grey Warden.” 

The whole crowd takes a step back even as Abelas moved toward them, pushing her way through the taller bodies. Blackwall doesn’t see her looking up at him from where she is near the front of the stage. He looks out at all of the crowd and speaks loudly enough and firmly enough for his voice to carry, “This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him! Orders were given and he followed them like any good soldier; he shouldn’t die for that mistake.” 

“Then find the man who gave the order.” The masked man snaps at him. 

Abelas hears a thunderclap but doesn’t pay it any mind. Not even as it lighty begins to rain. More of a misting really. Blackwall turns to look at the man and then turns back to the crowd gathered to watch someone hang. Abelas cries up to him, “Blackwall!”

“No,” he shakes his head and moves closer to the edge of the stage and looks down at her with a look of guilt and stricken grief, “I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am.”

The man wearing the noose squints at him and then his face shows recognition for the man on the stage with him, “You...after all these years…”

“It’s over.” Blackwall says and turns to the man with an expression of guilt on his face, “I’m done hiding.  **I** gave the order. The crime is  _ mine.  _ I am Thom Rainer.” 

****************

Maraas is ready to kill Abelas. That isn’t a figure of speech. Her hair is going from red to white because of her. Cullen is not too far behind her in this regard. Abelas had pulled her ultimate card and said that as the Herald of Andraste and the false Grey Warden was in her camp, she had the right to try her as given the power by their Empress and her cousin. They had been told via raven to come and pick them both up and Maraas was ready to scream. Cullen went with her and so did Solas. Solas thought is was funny. 

Maraas could tell by his smirk. She got to the five hour marker when she had to snap at him about that smirk, “Something funny, Solas?” 

“I do.” he admits and Cullen turns to look at him and Solas keeps going, “I think that it’s funny that a killer of innocents was a trusted friend to us and was left with your child more than once. And yet, here we are. On our way to rescue a god of death from nothing. Only another god could kill her now. But she’ll have to judge the man who we thought was Warden Blackwall. I wonder what she’ll do.” 

Cullen grits his teeth, “She’ll do the right thing. Abelas always tries to do right.” 

“Many people always  _ try  _ and do right, Commander. Few can do it.” Solas says with a raised eyebrow, “But Death doesn’t have to play by the rules. Or be merciful. She might be a child but don’t you ever wonder how much of the god reborn she is? What if...she is forced to make an adult choice and she doesn’t want to? What if...she doesn’t do the right thing and instead makes a choice of power.” 

Maraas hisses at him, “Speak plainly.”

“What if she makes a choice that follows the veins of Corypheus instead our Commander who is trying to beat his addiction?” 

Cullen stops his horse and grabs Solas by the shirt when he get close, “Say that again, mage. I dare you.” 

“I know what it’s like,” Solas says with a smirk, “to try and ignore the siren call of what you want. I applaud you, Cullen Rutherford, for going it without trying to wean yourself first. But you have not beaten your addiction.” 

Solas is punched from his saddle and when he looks up, Maraas lowers her fist. She takes a deep breath and then urges her horse forward, “Keep your mouth shut, Solas. Or go back to Skyhold.” Cullen follows after her as Solas gets back on his horse, smirk still in place. 

****************

Blackwall is hunched over as he awaits his trial and punishment. When he sees two sets of feet. He looks out of the corner of his eye and he wants to swear. Abelas and Cole, these kids who could take the world with kindness. He rubs at his face and keeps his eyes covered, “I hear you found the templar that hurt you.”

“I did. I tried to kill him. I thought it would fix it, fix me.” 

Blackwall lets his hand fall but still doesn’t look up, “Did it?” 

“No. But I'm more real now. I'll remember.”

He chuckles, “Good. Remembering is the only way you learn.” He would know. 

“It hurts.” 

He nods slowly, “It does.” 

He sighs and Cole starts the song that had begun the end of his life, “ _ Mocking bird, mocking bird…”  _

“Cole, if you knew what I am, what I'd done, why didn't you tell the others?” Blackwall asks him even as he hears Abelas sniffle. 

“Everyone hides dead things. Everyone pretends. You wanted to fix it.”

Blackwall slams his fists on the bench under him, “I'm a murderer.”

“You don't  _ want  _ to be. You made a new you. You  _ are  _ Blackwall. You killed Rainier.” Cole tells him earnestly. 

Blackwall shakes his head, “If only that were possible.”

“You would stand between Rainier and the carriage. But you can't. It doesn't work like that.” Cole tells him as he scuffs his foot, “So you carry the bodies to remember.”

Blackwall doesn’t argue, “I suppose I do.”

“Blackwall?” Abelas says his name is a wobble in her voice. 

He doesn’t look up as he speaks to them, “I didn’t take Blackwalls life. I traded his death. He wanted me to be a Warden. But there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed. I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man, the man he  _ was,  _ wouldn’t let another man die in his place. ” 

“You saved that man.” Abelas says as she moves toward the cell and her hands wrap around the bars of his cell, and he looks at her, “That took courage.” 

He shakes his head at her statement and his face is painted with sheer desperation, “Courage? I killed innocent people...ruined Mornay’s life and the lives of people like him. One moment of courage won’t make up for that. Why are you here, Abelas?”

“Because you shouldn’t go through this alone. It’s scary to be alone.” Abelas tells him with a wobbling lower lip and glassy eyes. 

“Don’t you understand?” Blackwall snaps as he stands up to look down at the child trying not to cry in front of him, “ _ I  _ gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I  _ lied  _ to my men about what they were doing! When it came to light I ran. Those men,  _ my men,  _ paid for my treason while I was  _ pretending  _ to be a better man. This is what I am. A traitor...a murder...a monster.” he sinks down to the floor and now Abelas stands taller than him. 

Abelas wipes her eyes and under her nose. She knew what a monster looked like and how they acted. Blackwall wasn’t a bad man, just a very misguided one who wanted to try and do better to make up for it, “You’re more than that. You’re not a monster. You should have more faith in yourself.” 

“Abelas!” Cullen snaps and Abelas turns to look at him along with Cole. They both slinked away to Cullen and an irate Maraas. They get taken out of the dungeon and are forced to sit in the small office that Maraas and Cullen pace and speak to each other in. Solas in leaning on the wall by the door not saying anything. 

“We have no idea what is going on, Cullen!” Maraas snaps. 

Cullen shakes his head, “I have Leliana's report on Thom Rainer.” he says and takes some paper off of the desk and hand them to her. Maraas looks over it quickly and then rubs at her forehead with a deep sigh. 

“Summarize it for me, please.” 

Cullen folds his arms as he does so, “Looks like our friend was once a respected captain in the Imperial Orlesian army. Before the civil war, he was turned and persuaded to assassinate one of Celene's biggest supporters.  He led a group of fiercely loyal men on this mission and didn’t tell them a thing about it.”

“Poor planning on his part.” 

Cullen nodded his head, “A few of his men took the fall for him. A few lucky ones, like Mornay, managed to escape.”

“This is educational at the very least.” Maraas sighs and then looks at Abelas. She is wiping her face with one hand and holding onto Cole hand with her other one. Cullen follows her eyesight and then rubs at his face. 

Cullen grabs her shoulders and Marass looks at him, “Don’t blame yourself. We were all fooled. We all made this mistake. What do we do now? Black—Rainer...has accepted his fate but we don’t have to. We do have resources.” 

Abelas speaks up, “Please.” 

And so it begins. 

****************

Leto helps Hermione dust off the circular table in the large castle that was once the center of the Golden City. Hermione wipes her hands on her pants and then looks at him before blurting out, “The table is too big.”

“Abelas says that Fen’harel isn’t dead. I think she took the power he had and is looking for someone worthy to give it to. The table won’t be too big for too long.” Leto tells her as he pushes his dark hair back. 

Hermione looks down at her feet, “My father used to tell me the story of how Abelas let him finish what he started. Making up for the horrible thing he had done. He talked about her like she was something more than flesh and blood. I can’t believe he was right.” 

“Abelas is…” he doesn’t know what to say and instead just chuckles, “...she is. Death really doesn’t play by the rules.” 

****************

_ The shopkeeper was selling walnuts. It was a good price, and a whole bag was given for each one coin traded. Abelas was struggling to open one. She was using her back teeth to try and crack one open. Bull was cracking them open with one swift crunch of his fist. Damien and Dorian had left in a flurry and flutter of robes. They couldn’t eat nuts, it made them ill.  _

_ Bull had cracked a dirty joke and Sera had almost choked on her handful of walnut. They had all taken a seat on the outside of the sparring ring. It wasn’t often that Cullen would take off his shirt and armor to go hand to hand with anyone, but he did so for Maraas without a second thought. It was fun to watch a man who was easily six feet get slapped around like a doll by a woman who stood at least a foot taller than him, if not two. Abelas liked to watched just so she could cheer them both on. It was funny because Cullen needed the support more so than Maraas. _

_ Blackwall popped his walnut into his mouth and took the shell from her. She gave a low cry of anger at being made to give up her snack but settled when he cracked the nut open for her to eat. She thanked him and the match started. They watched as he cracked open a nut for her and then one for himself. The match was even. Cullen had improved. Varric chuckled a few people down from him. _

_ “Ten royals says she flips him.” He said out loud, waving an open betting book. A few nobles and soldiers called out their bets. He gave a low snort and handed another nut to Abelas who chewed it lightly. _

_ “I’ll take that bet.” He called out. Abelas shot her hand up. _

_ “I think my  _ baba  _ will win, this time!” The small crowd of soldiers laughed at this. Cullen shot them a look and then ducked under a fist that had been flying toward his face. Abelas had always picked Cullen to win, despite the fact that Maraas always laid him low at her feet. Cullen seemed to thrive off of the childish love freely given to him. It was therefore a shock when he did, in fact win. Abelas jumped up, mouth full of walnut and gave a whoop of joy.  _

_ And then choked, her little hands going around her throat. He picked her up and slapped her on her back as hard as he could, letting her head dangle. She gagged and coughed. Maraas and Cullen had both run over, hands fluttering as he tried to get her to spit out the nut she had inhaled. He slapped her so hard she puked. But she was alive and his boots smelled like walnuts. He handed her to Maraas who wiped her red face with a wet rag, cooing at her. _

_ Cullen rubbed her back. She wiped her eyes of tear and then looked right at him, “Thank you!” She smiled at him, “You saved me!” _

_ Cullen clapped him on the shoulder, “You’re a good man, Warden Blackwall.” _

As he was lead to the Iron Throne, the place where Abelas sat to judge the guilty, he clung to this memory of being a good man. As he stopped he looked up and she was sitting there. A little blue dress with white lace ruffles, her hair pulled into a braid. She looked ready to cry, her lower lip was shaking so much. Cullen wouldn’t look at him and Maraas just glared. He clung to that memory of being a good man.


	24. What Pride had wrought: The Well of Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Well is not for you. It is not for any of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost done! A few more chapters.

The kid liked to draw on the pages he was going to throw into the fire. She drew odd shapes and odd runes and little stick people with letters going to wrong directions. She had drawn everyone, even Hawke and Fenris with a little bundles between them because their kids had been born a few weeks ago. Hawke had sent a letter thanking them for letting them rest up after she had given birth here in Skyhold. Fenris had sent one with a Tevinter recipe for sweet bread. The kid had drawn Cullen and Maraas and her, and when she had given it to Cullen, well, Cullen had it tucked into his pocket. Varric had caught him sometimes taking it out and smiling down at it whenever Maraas and Abelas had to leave Skyhold.  
Today as he rubbed at his temples, Abelas sat across from him, drawing a careful line on the page, her rabbit sitting half fallen onto itself as it sat in front of her to the side. He watched for a moment, as the line was made with slight movements and careful strokes. So far it took up a whole page, one line going down the left hand side, another cutting from the right corner to the upper left. Another line made a perfect square and inside the square she was making a swirling shape that she put little crosses on at what seemed random intervals. He had asked Solas about it once, and he had only said that like him and Damien, Abelas (now coming into her powers and trying to keep them under control, like all young mages) Dorian and even Vivienne, could walk the Fade and see things which had been lost for generations. She was drawing out what she saw because she did not know how to tell anyone what it was she had seen. Solas and Damien understood, they had seen many of the same things no doubt, but even they had trouble sometimes telling normal people about it.  
As she drew the careful lines he watched as she made them, her eyes glassy and gone. She wasn’t _here_. She was looking at whatever the hell it was that she, Solas, Damien and Hawke _(bless that woman)_ could see. Dwarves didn’t get to see magic shit. They didn’t dream. They couldn’t do magic. Outliers in the mage vs everyone else debate.

Thank fuck for that. 

Her crayon broke and she looked at it for a long moment and then opened her hand, the crayon falling out of her tiny hands and down onto the table. He pushed another one toward her and she picked it up without even looking at him. He got a fresh page of paper and dipped his quill into the ink.

“Hey,” he said and she looked right at him, eyes at half mast and looking like melting gold, “tell me what you see, Abelas.”

She went back to looking at her drawings, “Before the next day dawned their journey to the Gold City was over. The marshes and the desert were behind them. Before them, darkling against a pallid sky, the great mountains reared their threatening heads. Upon the west of the Gold City marched a gloomy range of spirits, the mountains of shadows, and upon the north the broken peaks and barren ridges of Arlathan, grey as ash. But as these ranges approached one another, being indeed but parts of a great wall about the mournful plains, and the bitter inland sea of Falon’Din, they swung out long arms northward; and between these arms there was a deep valley. This was the Black Gate, the entrance to the land of the enemy. High cliffs lowered upon either side and thrust forward from its mouth two sheer hills, black-boned and bare.

“The remains of a dragon, one of Mythals’. Upon these bones stood the bare bones of a bridge which had once lead to the Gold City. In days long past they were built by the gifted ones, made by Ghilan’nain, they built it because of their pride and power. But their strength failed them and they were pushed back to a small island, and for many years the bridge was never taken care of and had fallen into despair.”

Varric gives a low whistle, “Sounds dangerous.”

“It hasn’t happened yet.”

Varric didn’t questions what that meant. Varric wrote it all down, pages upon pages of what she said. A great battle and a woman, sickly and tired, chosen to be a savior. Varric stopped for a moment and looked at Abelas. She kept drawing.

“What was the lady's name?”

Abelas fixed her rabbit to sit up a little straighter as she spoke, “Which lady? There have been many women born to great things.”

Didn’t Varric know it? Hawke, Maraas, the kid. Hell, Isabela, Avallen and even Merrill. He had a feeling he should count Cassandra, Vivienne, Sera and Josie on that list. 

“The one who got chosen by,” he looked at his notes, “Fen’harel.”

Abelas looked up and him and smiles, “Her name was Andraste. She was a mage. She wanted to help people, and Fen’harel saw that in her, so he helped her. He only ever wanted to help. He just does a bad job at it is all.”

Varric nodded his head, “Most of us do fuck it up when we try to help.”

“That’s ok. You have to mess up. You don’t learn anything by being right all the time.”

****************

Kieran is sitting in the chair at the end of the room near the stairs, watching Solas as he paints. And Solas? He is almost ready to go and grab the boy to drag him to his mother and demand to be left alone. But that wasn’t how it worked then and he doubts that will change now that new faces have replace the old. He takes a step back from his painting to see how it looks. 

“She wasn’t angry.” Kieran says from the couch. Solas can feel his face twitch. 

He turns to look at Kieran with a frown, “I am aware she wasn’t angry. But she was the judge of what happened to him. The scene is to show that.” 

“Death doesn’t play fair but it isn’t ruthless either. She gave him a choice and he chose to make up for the things he did.” Kieran pointed out and got down from the couch, coming to stand next to Solas and pointing to the painting as he spoke, “She wasn’t standing when she gave her judgement. She was on the same level as him and she was crying. He didn’t look scared, he looked...sad.” 

Solas sneers, “Then why don’t you paint it, Kieran?” 

“Because the boy has wonderful taste in art and also a better memory than you, but he can’t reach as high as you can when standing on that ladder.” Dorian said as he came from the stairs and joined them in looking up at the painting, “And this? Goodness, man, you made her look like some horrid judge, jury and executioner all in one go.”  

Solas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Do you want me to make her seem human, or weak? When they talk about this long after all of us are gone, what will they say when they see this? They will say that the Herald of Andraste was firm and ruled justly.” 

“But...Abelas doesn’t rule anything.” Kieran said as he spread his arms toward the painting, “And this makes her seem cruel when she wasn’t!” 

Dorian nods his head and snatches the paintbrush from Solas and the paint wash, the chemical to get rid of paint, before climbing the ladder and systematically wiping the paint away with the brush. He snapped his fingers at the table where a dry cloth was and Kieran handed it to him. Dorian dried the wall off and got down from the ladder. He threw the cloth at Solas and smiled at him with more teeth than lips. 

“Let’s try this again.” 

“Abelas was standing in front of him and she was crying.” Kieran said loudly as he grabbed a few paints from the table and lugged them over to the wall, “It was sunset!” 

Solas grits his teeth, “I am aware, I was present at the trial.” 

“Then paint what you saw,” Dorian says tightly, “and not what you think people who haven’t even been born yet will want to see.” 

Solas snaps at him, “Children you will never have should not concern you!” 

Kieran gives a little gasp and Dorian works his jaw. 

He laughs slightly and grabs Solas by the back of his neck before whispering into his ear, “You’re in the same boat as me. And even though it’s sinking slowly, I’ll be more than happy to push you toward the sharks.” 

“Greater men than you have tried, Pavus. Or can you still lay claim to that house?” Solas sneered at him. Dorian pulled back and slapped him. Kieran had both his hands over his mouth. 

Dorian had only a moment before he launched himself at Solas. Kieran ran towards Cullens tower and burst in. Cullen looked up as Kieran gasped out what was happening. Cullen marched to the rotunda and pulled Solas off of Dorian and threw them both to opposite ends on the room. He snapped his fingers at them both with a stern look on his face.

“Enough.” he said tightly, “I may no longer be a Templar but I can still bind your magic to you for a short time. If you keep this up, I’ll do it and I won’t lose sleep over it.” 

Kieran jumped from foot to foot, “Solas didn’t draw Abelas right and that’s why Dorian got mad and wiped it and Solas said something mean and then Dorian attacked him!”

“Insulting my family didn’t help him, either.” Dorian sniffed as he wiped the blood from under his nose. He held out the blood stain on his fingers to Solas and sneered, “Since you believe in Blood Magic so much, maybe I should use it to even the playing field, hmm?” 

Cullen slapped his hands together and they all looked at him, “Enough. Both of you. Solas, you owe Dorian an apology. Dorian, go get fixed up. Kieran?” 

“Yes?” he answered. 

“Go to your mother.” 

“Oh...OK.” he quickly left the room and Dorian threw a curse at Solas with a glob of blood landing on his feet before he was gone as well. Solas looked at Cullen and Cullen shook his head at him. 

Solas frowned at him, “Well say it.” 

“You should remember who your friends are, Solas. You might end up losing them because you can’t swallow your pride.” Cullen told him as he left as well. Solas picked up his paints and looked at the freshly blank wall. He rubbed at his rapidly swelling cheek. Fine, he would draw what had happened instead. A crying child and a fraud. 

****************

Maaras looks at the war table and taps her finger on the inked paper under her hand. Cullen has placed a red “X” over every victory they have had. In major battles he has circled the “X” with golden ink, a sign that the people and their faith in Abelas had grown with the victory. And here they are, the final battle. Corypheus has nowhere else to run. Samson and Calpernia had no more allies to bribe or force to work for them out of fear. They had beaten them at every turn and now, here they wait the next move. The doors behind her open and she doesn’t bother to turn and look at whoever entered. 

“‘Tis an odd thing,” Morrigan said softly as she came to stand next to Maraas, “being the mother of something that you know will someday exceed you.” 

Maraas stands up straighter and shakes her head, “I won’t care if she does or not. I just want her to be happy. To grow up knowing that the horrible things that happened to her don’t have to define her whole. She is free to choose.” 

“But...that isn’t what you’re afraid of.” Morrigan said, “You wake up in the middle of the night because your mind is filling in the blanks of what she might do or she might have already done in a past life.” 

Maraas covers her eyes and gives a mirthless chuckle, “I can see it. The death she could spread with having an army like the Templars and the Mages, an alliance with the Qunari. The devoted followers who do not question how a child was able to survive and mountain being leveled. You can seal holes into the Fade and who can kill demons. I can see the path of least resistance, and what lies at the end of it scares me.” 

“But?”

Maraas turns and looks at her, eyes damp with unshed tears, “I hope that Cullen and I...I hope that we can set an example for her. That we can teach her to be a good person.” 

“I think how she spared Blackwall is proof enough of that.” Morrigan tells her. 

Maraas collapses against the table with a shuddering breath, “Did she make the right choice?” she wonders with a sob between words. 

“Maraas,” Morrigan helps her to her feet, “are you alright?” 

She has tears making the kohl around her eyes run, leaving streaks of black down her grey skin, and she holds her hands over her heart, “I...I...I’m pregnant.” she whispers aloud. 

****************

Anansi follows the path to the large room with the broken mirror in it. Abelas is sitting in front of it and holding a drink in one hand. He came and sat next to her. She handed him a drink and then took a deep draw of her own. He took his own sip and laughed. 

“Maraas-lok?” he shook his head, “Didn’t mom say this was going to kill someone?” 

Abelas laughed, “Dorian likes it. I like it. You like it too. It helps us remember...the fallen we have lossed and mourned.” 

“Mom and dad had a long life before they...before.” 

Abelas waves her hand in front of the mirror, “And here we are. After.” 

“When you went through that other mirror, did it look like this?” 

Abelas laughs and drinks some more, “What an odd question.”

“It’s to get us away from the depressing topic of before and after.” 

Abelas refills her cup, “No. It looks different. All of us have different mirrors.” 

“Was this one yours?” 

Abelas refills his cup next and places the bottle between them, “Oddly enough, no. Falon’Din didn’t like them so he rarely used them. This mirror was the one that Fen’harel used to seal us all away. It broke due to the spell he used.” 

“Oh...well that sucks.” 

Abelas nods her head, “Yep.” 

They are silent for a long time. By the time he pours the last of the liquid into his cup, the sun is almost rising. He can’t take it anymore. He has to know.

So he asks her. 

“You locked away his spirit didn’t you?” 

Abelas gives him a cruel smile as she answers, knowing full well who he was talking about with that line of questioning, “If he can get out on his own, he can work for his powers and a new body just like we had to.” 

“Abelas has a point.” Dorians voice announces him as he comes to sit on the other side of Abelas and takes her up cup to drink from it, “If Solas can’t prove how  _ powerful  _ he is by doing what all of you had to go through, then we need to fill the void he leaves.”

Anansi looked down into his cup, “Even if we fill the void, it will never be filled by the new person for who used to wear it.” 

“The love you feel for the people we’ve lost isn’t trying to fill a void,” Abelas tells him with a grunt as she gets up, “it’s making new voids in your heart for new people. I’m going to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Dorian waved his hand at her, “May all your dreams be sweet tonight, safe upon your bed of moonlight, Abelas.”  

****************

Abelas doesn’t sleep anymore. Well, she sleeps, but all the knowledge flooding into her head makes it hard to enjoy her sleep. She often gets up in the middle of the night to go and curl in the middle of her parents bed. She can feel the small bump in her Tamas belly. She is going to be a sister, she hopes that she can be beat Corypheus so her sibling can live a better life. But tonight, she wanders down to see Solas. She keeps her rabbit close to her chest and opens the doors as quietly as she can. 

Solas is still painting when she comes into the room. She watches as he draws the tears running down her face. The painting is sad, but it what happened. She freed Blackwall and she had been sobbing while she did so. She had been sobbing because she knew her choice would never be accepted by everyone and that this choice would be critically looked at for years by well established rulers she had to report to. But a man trying to redeem himself shouldn’t be punished harshly for trying to fix his mistakes. Solas wipes the brush as he sits on the ladder, but he doesn’t turn around when he speaks to her. 

“You have very devoted followers.” he says with a tone of voice like he is speaking of something he hates. Maybe he is. From what she has seen from the memories and the knowledge she has gained, Solas and Falon’Din didn’t get along at all, “Dorian wiped away the original work and I had to redo it. What do you think?”

She watches as he climbs down the ladder, “It’s...accurate.” 

“Magister Pavus demanded I make it so.” Solas tells her as he sets down his brushes before turning to look at her with a raised eyebrow and a tiny sneer on his face, “Up and about again? What’s wrong, hmm? Nightmares?” 

Abelas looks down at her rabbit and begins to pick at a loose string near its eye, “No. Knowledge. My brain hurts with all the stuff settling inside of it. I’ve even seen the future if I win the fight against Corypheus.” 

“And? How did it look?” 

Abelas looks at him and smiles, “I think I’ll enjoy it.” 

“And what of us, hmm?” 

Abelas hears Maraas calling for her and she turns to leave, “What about us?” 

****************

The whole of the Inquisition has gathered in the war room. It is so early that the sun has not even risen to greet the world yet. All of them look down at the map and the area they have marked. The last place that Corypheus will go, as his army marches even now as they wait. 

Leilana puts down her papers she had been reading and speaks softly, “With an Eluvian, Corypheus could cross into The Fade in the flesh?” 

“Indeed.” Morrigan says as she crosses her arms, “The Herald can attest that these artifacts still work if one knows how to use them.”

Cullen shook his head as he rested his hand on his sword, “What happens if Corypheus enter The Fade?” 

“He will gain his heart's desire,” Morrigan says with a sneer on her face as she makes mocking gestures, “and take the power of a god.” No one brings up the fact that two gods reborn live here at Skyhold. She shakes her head and goes on, “Or—and this more likely—the lunatic will unleash forces that tear the world apart.” 

Dorian and Daimen both looked at each other and said together, “That one.” 

“I won’t allow it.” Maraas says as her hand goes to her stomach, “I can’t.” 

Sera snaps with a click of her teeth, “No doubt that Marass and Abelas would the first to feel his “holy wrath” or whatever other horseshit he’s selling.” 

“Pardon ma,” Josephine says as she moves around the table, “but does this mean that everything is lost unless we can get to other Eluvian first?” 

Cullen rubs at his face, “Corypheus has a head start, no matter how fast we push our army to move.” 

“We should gather our allies before we march.” Josephine tells them and they all nod at her words. 

Leliana—always the well meaning Devil's Advocate—asks, “Can we wait for them? We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.”

“Without support from the soldiers?” Cullen questions her, “You’d lose half of them!” 

Josephine snaps at them both, “Then what should we do?” 

The room breaks into yelling and Maraas has had enough, “SHUT UP!” 

The whole room falls silent. 

Bull walks forward and places a hand on her shoulder, “Abelas has the Qunari. Dorian and Daimen can vouch for this. When the war order comes down, Qunari plan as they march. We tell them what to do and they’ll be there before us. It’ll give Red her spies the backup they need while Cullens boys get down there. And time for everyone Abelas has helped up off their ass.” 

Maraas pats his hand and she speak softly, “We are  _ not  _ going to let him worry us to death. He should be scared of us, not the other way around. Josephine, get ravens out to every allie we have and ask them to meet us in the Arbor Wilds post haste. Leliana, send your fastest spies. Cullen, between the spies being a general pain to the opposing army, it will buy you time to get your soldiers down there and for our allies armies as well.” 

“Such confidence.” Morrigan says with a chuckle, “The Arbor Wilds are home to old Elvhen magic and it lingers like a fog there and they are not kind to visitors.” 

Solas scoffs, “Please enlighten us.” 

“Solas.” Maraas snaps. 

Cullen shakes his head, “Is there anything else, Maraas?” 

“We started as a ragtag team,” Maraas says softly, “people just trying to do the right thing. Thanks to you—all of you—we are now a powerful enemy to a self proclaimed god with delusions of grandeur. I could not ask for better council, for better fighters. For better friends and allies in this moment.”

Cullen smiles at her, “We could ask for no finer cause to stand behind.” 

Everyone in the room agrees. 

“If we die fighting this war,” Maraas says, “then we will die knowing we fought to save everyone we love and care for. We will die knowing we took some of them with us.” 

They all cheer at her words. The door behind them slams open and Abelas’ tutor limps in with a look of shock on his face. 

“Abelas and Kieran are gone.” he tells her in a gasp. 

****************

_ Dear Maraas and Cullen,  _

_ Kieran and I know what we have to do. We’ve know for a long time. We are going to use the Eluvian here to go to one in the Arbor Wilds and find this place Corypheus is looking for. We will break the mirror and the one we used to get there after we are done. We will come home. Please don’t worry about us. If this would be pretender of a god wants to fight, then we can face two demigods in place no one else can get hurt.  _

Baba _ , please don’t stress and worry for me. Don’t take that medicine you hide away from your old life.  _ Tama _ , please don’t worry. The baby will be fine. What kind of big sister would I be if I didn’t try and protect them? To protect my family, my clan? I will come home and I will beat this monster.  _

_ I swear on my life.  _

_ Abelas Lavellan-Rutherford _

_ The Herald of Andraste  _

_ God of Death   _

****************

Kieran looks at her as she helps him climb up and out of the partially broken Eluvian. She looks so tired. The Arbor Wilds are vast and silent, fireflies dance around them. She looks up at the night sky and tells him, “If we do this, we may not ever go home.” 

Kieran grabs her hand and she looks at him, “We promised to go home, Abelas. And death won’t touch us. Corypheus is the one who should be afraid.” 

“Oh? And why won’t death touch us?” 

Kieran lifts up their hands, “I am touching death and I am still alive. You won’t kill yourself. I think we’re safe.” 

Abelas laughs. 

****************

As soon as they had eaten they set out again. They climbed slowly down the southern side of the ridge; but the way was much easier than they had expected, for the slope was far less steep on this side, and before long Maraas was able to ride again. The poor old horse was developing an unexpected talent for picking out a path, and for sparing its rider as many jolts as possible. The spirits of the party rose again. Even Maraas felt better in the morning light, but every now and again a mist seemed to obscure her sight, and she passed her hands over her eyes. Daimen was a little ahead of the others. 

Suddenly Blackwall turned around and called to them, “There is a path here!”

When they caught up with him, they saw that he had made no mistake: there were clearly the beginnings of a path, that climbed with many windings out of the woods below and faded away on the hill-top behind. In places it was now faint and overgrown, or choked with fallen stones and trees; but at one time it seemed to have been much used. It was a path made by strong arms and heavy feet. Here and there old trees had been cut or broken down, and large rocks cloven or heaved aside to make way. They followed the track for some while, for it offered the easiest way down, but they went cautiously, and their anxiety increased as they came into the dark woods, and the path grew dull and broader. Suddenly coming out of a belt of fir-trees it ran steeply down a slope, and turned sharply to the left round the corner of a rocky shoulder of the hill. When they came to the corner they looked round and saw that the path ran on over a level strip under the face of a low cliff overhung with trees.

****************

They have to climb down a large tree that has fallen to get to the door. It is a large golden thing locked up tight with magic. Abelas looks at it for a long time before she steps aside and points at it, “Open it.” 

Kieran frowns at her, “Open it? Do I look like I have a key to you?” 

“This is my temple.” she sighs and points to the side of the door and the half hidden faded paint at the front, “These symbols are for Mythal. You can open the door.” 

Kieran looks at the door with a look if disbelief, “Abelas, that door is bigger than Maraas and Bull standing on top of each other. How am I going to open this behemoth?” 

“Just...push on it.” 

A familiar older voice calls out behind them, “She is correct. Just push them open.” 

“Flemeth.” Abelas says with a smile, “It’s nice to see you!” 

Kieran turns and runs into his grandmother, hugging her tightly, “Grandmother!” 

Flemeth hugs him back and pushes him toward the door a moment later, “Just place your hands on the door and tell it with your magic to open.” 

Kieran nods his hand and shakes his hands out in front of him before bracing himself against the door and pushing. The door stands shut. He tries again, his magic flaring as he does so. It doesn’t open, not even an inch. He gives a groan of frustration. Abelas places her hand on his shoulder and he looks at her. 

“Close your eyes and see the door in front of you. Make your magic go out before you do anything and cover the door from top to bottom. Tell it to open. Don’t ask it, don’t be a brat about it. Just tell it to open and then push.” 

Kieran turns partially away from the door, “If you’re so good at stuff like this then why don’t you do it?” 

“She can’t, Kieran.” Flemeth tells him, “And I can’t do it for you either. You are going to be the next Mythal. This is your temple and you must command it.” 

Kieran frowns down at his feet, “Father always said that his sister was crazy for becoming a Grey Warden with him when hadn’t been given the Blight. She was crazy for fighting the ArchDemon. She was crazy for falling in love with a human and he went right around and did the same thing by falling in love with mom. But...this? This is crazy.” 

He places both hands on the door and tries to do what Abelas told him. The door groans in protest and shakes under his hands. 

“You can do it, Kieran!” Abelas tells him. 

The door pushes back and he pushes on it harder, “Please…” 

The door opens. 

****************

“Inquisitor!” one of Leliana's spies says as they run up to Maraas. 

Maraas keeps stalking forward even as she walks, “How goes the battle?” 

“The Red Templars fall beneath our blades. The Venatori don’t fare much better. Commander Cullen has been tirelessly working to push them back and he thinks that they are almost finished. Our scouts saw Corypheus traveling toward an Elven ruin to the north. We can cut you a path toward his armies. 

Orta, who was walking next to Maraas and Daimen as she strode through to her allies, snorted, “Do what you can, mate. We need enough people to go back and party when we win this fight against the ass-pimple overlord himself.” 

“We will not fail in this. No matter what comes. Andraste guide you.” the spy says with a smirk on her face. 

Morrigan comes to stride next to Maraas, Orta and Daimen as the spy went away, “I wonder...is it Andraste that your armies invoke during battle, or does a more  _ intimate  _ name come to mind and grace their lips?”

“They respect Abelas, Morrigan.” Maraas says as the move down the hill, “They do not mistake her for the Maker.”

Morrigan gives a lady like snort, “True. You are more likely to come to their aide than a Chantry fable. But I digress. If your scouts and spies are correct, I believe these ruins to be the Temple of Mythal.”

“W-which is...what to us?” Daimen asks as they keep going down the hill. 

Morrigan smirks at him, “A place of worship out of Elven Legend. If he seeks it, then this the Eluvian that the children and him are seeking lies within.” 

A large explosion shakes the whole woods. Orta catches herself and snaps, “What the fuck was that?!” 

“Let us hope that the Temple is still  _ there  _ before the whole forest is turned to ash.” Morrigan sneers. 

They go to speak to the leaders of their allies. The Empress, her cousin and her lover from Orlais, King Alistair, and three large Qunari. Maraas bows her head to them all and they all do the same to her. 

The largest of the Qunari look at her, “Tamassran.” 

“Arishok. Arigene. Ariqun. Ataash varin kata(in the end lies glory)” 

The only other female Qunari looks at her for a long moment, “Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun(Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun." Extract from the Qun from Qunari Prayers for the Dead.)

“Goodness, I feel bad for my wife trying to learn your language while we running around with Sten.” Alistair says with a smirk. 

Celene fans herself, “May we get on with it? The humid place smells foul.”

The Ariqun looks at her, “Our navy has been fighting the Templar ships in the small cover and our soldiers are helping to kill the Red Lyrium infected giants.” 

“My wife spoke to her clan,” Alistair tells them diplomatically, “she got them to come down from Kirkwall and have been having a grand time with the spies of the Inquisition.” 

“Thank you.” Maraas says, “Your nephew and my my daughter are in the ruins. They are trying to help but...war is no place for children.” 

The Arishok looks to the ruins they can see peeking over the trees, “We shall retrieve them. And our victory will assured before the day is done.” 

“We shall see.” Celene sniffs. 

****************

They look down into the water and Kieran looks so nervous. Abelas holds his hand tightly. Flemeth stands behind them with the Sentinel also named ‘Abelas’ as they watch them. Children making adult choices. Flemeth knows that they will make everything better, if only given the chance. Her Sentinel looks at her for a long moment and she finally looks at him. 

His hood keeps his face partially hidden, “They are...so young to be the next candidates for the Pantheon.” 

“Life is hard on little things. But little things can grow up to be bigger than you could have ever imagined.” Flemeth tells him as Abelas helps Kieran walk down the steps into the Well of Sorrows, “They are young  _ now.  _ But they will grow up and they will either be great or they shall be the end of everything because of the events unfolding outside.” 

The Sentinel bows his head, “We shall not fail you, Mythal. We shall keep the invaders at bay while your chosen becomes endowed with knowledge.” 

“Knowledge is a terrible thing.” she says as he quickly uses his magic to be elsewhere. 

Kieran takes a deep breath and ducks down into the water as Abelas climbs out to hover on the edge of the Well of Sorrows. 

****************

They fight. With everything they have, they fight until they get to the ruins and walk in the door behind the Elves that they had been seeing throughout the whole forest. Until, finally, they come to long stone archway. Solas, Blackwall, Morrigan and Cassandra follow her as they run toward the light. 

“There!” Morrigan shouts, “That must be the Temple of Mythal!” 

Solas huffs, “Be ready. Corypheus will be there.” 

“I hear fighting ahead.” Cassandra sneers. 

As they step out into the light, they see the battle as the elves who are not from Queen Mahariels clan, or from Briallas spies, slowly back up onto a bridge. 

The leader, an elf so tall he might as well have been towering over a man, sneered at Samson and Calpernia, “ _ Na melana sur, banallen! _ ” 

“The wretch mocks you, master.” Calpernia says with a twittering in her voice. 

Corypheus stalks toward them and the bridge, “These are but  _ remnants.  _ They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.” 

Maraas looks at Morrigan, “Well of Sorrows?” 

“I can not know the answer you seek.” Morrigan whispers to her, “Mayhaps it is what the children came to steal away from him?” 

The two large statues that bracket the bridge begin to glow and Corypheus growls, “Be honored! Witness death at the hands of a new god!”

As he walks through, the statues shoot out a large blinding beam of light. He fights it and grabs the tall elf in his hands before a large explosion sends everyone flying back. Even them, hidden as they are on the balcony above. The elves pick themselves up quickly and run across the bridge into the fog. A few moments later, Samson and Calpernia get up, kicking awake the Red Templars and following. They make their way down and look out into the fog. 

“Abelas and Kieran are inside.” Marass says as she tries to catch her breath. 

Solas comes to stand next to her, “You should not be doing this in your...condition.” 

“Her  _ condition  _ is not a crippling disease.” Morrigan tells him, “We must hurry.” 

Behind them a dead Grey Warden stands up an screams. They all turn and watch in horror as black slime is puked up and out of the man. They watch in horror as he turns back into the foe they had just seen killed. 

“What the fuck?” Black wall mutters. 

Morrigan shakes her head, “It cannot be.” 

“We have to get across the bridge. NOW.” Maraas says and they all take off. Behind them they hear the Blight Dragon. As they pass the doors and push them closed, they do not know that their children opened the doors. They do not know how close they are to finding or to losing them. They push the doors closed as the dragon breathes fire at it. The door glows and shines. It has been locked once more. 

****************

Flemeth comes to stand by where Abelas sits on the edge of the Well of Sorrows. Kieran is still deep under the water, gaining all the knowledge of Mythal and the secrets that had been hidden here before the end came. Abelas is so small her feet dangle an inch above the water. 

“So young and vibrant,” she says softly and Abelas turns to look at her, “you have done The People proud. You have come far.” 

Abelas shook her head, her face forlorn, “I don’t feel like I’ve made anyone proud. I feel like I keep making things worse and I’ll get everyone killed!” 

“Mythal and the others thought that, once,” Flemeth admits, “before their pride and vanity got the better of them. Now you and Kieran, along with all the others who have yet to come, are a chance to make things right.”

Abelas stands up, her fists curled at her sides, her eyes shiny with unshed tears, “What if we ruin everything? What if we make everything worse? I can’t beat him and we lose this war and everyone dies?” 

“Abelas,” Flemeth gets to one knee and holders her shoulders, “I am losing my powers as Kieran gains them. Falon’Din has no more power because you,  _ just you,  _ have them all. I promise you that you will win because there is no victory without a willingness to sacrifice your all. And you came here,  _ you  _ dragged Kieran to his birthright, knowing that was what was needed and because you needed to know that this mirror wasn’t the  _ the mirror  _ that locked us all away. Now you do, and you bring your family honor. You bring The People honor. You bring yourself honor.” 

Abelas has tears running down her face, “I p-p-promise I won’t lose.” 

“Those who cower in fear should not mock the brave for what they do. I know you won’t lose.” Flemeth tells her with a smile as she wipes the tears away. 

****************

The whole of the temple is overgrown with trees and wildflowers, grass as tall at their hips and trees that are taller and older than even the ones they had passed fighting through the forest. Maraas looks around as they jog through the temple. Morrigan is breathless as she speaks. 

“At last. Mythals santacum. Let us proceed before Corypheus interferes.” 

Cassandra, now that they have a moment to breath and think, snaps, “You said that Corypheus wanted an Eluvian, but we all heard him mention this “Well of Sorrows”, so which is the truth?” 

“I do not know what this Well of Sorrows is. I have never heard of it nor read of it in any text in all my studies.” Morrigan tells her. 

Maraas shakes her head as they keep walking, “Could Eluvian translate into Well of Sorrows in certain context?” 

“No.” Morrigan says with a chuckle, “It seems that an Eluvian is not what he is seeking.” 

Solas laughs, “So much for being knowledge about the ancient elves.” 

“Whatever the Well of Sorrows  _ is  _ Corypheus seeks it! Our children sought it out and might very well have gotten into trouble because of it! We must keep him from his grasp.” Morrigan snaps at him and looks at Maraas beseechingly. 

Maraas moves a few low hanging branches out of her path, “Then let’s find this Well of Sorrows before Corypheus people do.” 

“What I want to know,” Blackwall said as he cut through the dense bushes, “is how is Corypheus still alive? We saw him die.” 

Maraas answers, “His life passes onto any blight infected being. Darkspawn included.” 

“Or Grey Wardens.” Cassandra says with a tight tone to her voice. Blackwall looks down at his feet as he keeps hacking away at the bushes behind them to make the path easier for everyone who isn’t a giant Qunari woman. 

Solas has a distant look in his eyes as he speaks, “Corypheus can not die. Destroy his body and he will assume another.”

“We  **will** find a way to stop him once we’re done here.” Maraas snaps. 

Morrigan shakes her head, “...’Tis strange. ArchDemons posses the same ability but the Grey Wardens are still able to slay them. Yet Corypheus they locked away. Perhaps they knew he could do this...just not  _ how  _ he could do it.” 

****************

Abelas looks deep into the water and Falon’Din looks back at her. He looks like an odd mix of proud and disappointed as well. She knows that Flemeth said her family was close and she was going to go. She said that they would meet again. Flemeth had proven she didn’t lie, so Abelas took it as truth. She snapped at Falon’Din. 

“Well? Speak your mind!” 

Falon’Din spreads his arms out, “Look at this! LOOK. You have done what I, in all my power, could only ever  _ dream  _ of. You have entered the place that all of us wished to see and grew envious of, but had no idea what it looked like. The Well of Sorrows.” 

“Kieran is using it and then it’ll be empty.” she tells him with a sneer. 

Falon’Din gives her a condescending smile, “Will it be empty though? Knowledge is ever expanding and the deeper in you go, the more mad you make yourself in the pursuit of it.” 

“I’m going to go crazy...aren’t I?” Abelas asks softly and tugs on her ponytail as it hangs over her shoulder, “I will beat the would be god and take his place as something  _ worse.  _ I’ll live long enough to become the villain of the story after being the hero.” 

Falon’Din laughs at her words, “Hero? Only fools think themselves  _ heroes.  _ The world doesn’t need them. It needs people who care.”

“What if...what if I don’t do good a job of it?” 

Falon’Din raises an eyebrow, “Do you think I was wonderful at being the  _ god of death,  _ when I was first tasked with it? No, I was horrible at my job, I made so many mistakes and choices that I grew to regret later. But if you know, if you know in your heart, that the choice you made was the right one, then you have nothing to apologize for unless proven otherwise.” 

“You are useless in helping me.” Abelas sighed. 

Falon’Din gave a snort, “Oh? What do you want me to teach or tell you? Hmmm? The spell Solas or Fen’harel or whatever he is calling himself now use to seal us away in the mirror? In the Eluvian?” 

“...Yes.” 

Falon’Din gives her a crooked smirk. 

****************

They had done all of the puzzles to enter the temple proper. Morrigan moved in circles as they moved forward, “...’Tis not what I expected. What was this chamber used for, I wonder?”

“We’re being watched.” Maraas said as they came to the middle of the chamber and they looked up at the large jutting balcony.  The tall elf from the bridge came striding out and looked down at them. His arms were crossed. 

“Venavis.” the elf says harshly at them, “You are unlike the other invaders. You stumble down our path at the side of one of your own. You stink like the mark of magic which is...familiar to us. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?” 

Maraas looks up at him and in his cheek bones, the slant of his eyes, even the noble bridge of his nose remind her of Abelas. How she will look all grown up. A beauty in her own right with old world beauty. She feels her heart clench at the thought, “They are my enemies as well as yours. Please...the mark of magic, you saw it on a little girl, didn’t you? You saw it on my Abelas.” 

“ **I** am Abelas.” he tells her with a narrowed eyed look, “We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who would trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to protect and preserve this place. Our number diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. You wish to drink from the Vir’Abelsan.” 

Morrigan leans over and whispers into her ear, “The Place of the Way of Sorrows. He speaks of the Well.” 

“It is  _ not  _ for you. It is not for  _ any  _ of you.” Abelas The Sentinel snaps at them.

Maraas turns to look at Solas, “Maybe he’ll listen to you.” 

“And what shall I say to him?” Solas asks with a smirk, “Shall I sway him from a millennia of servitude by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to all that remains of his world, because he lacks the power to restore it.” 

Blackwall asks, “So..your elves then? Ancient elves from before the Tevinter Imperium destroyed Arlathan?”

“The  _ shemlen  _ did not destroy Arlathan.” Abelas The Sentinel informs them, “We Elven warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this Sanctum had closed, our time was over. We awaken only when called, and each time we find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure.” 

Maraas takes step forward, “Please...my child is here. I know she is...please...I just want her to come home.”  

****************

Kieran comes up with a gasp and Abelas helps him onto the stone. He gasps as he clings to her waist. She rubs his back. 

“I have heard the future.” he whispers. 

Abelas presses her head into the back of his, “I’ve seen it.” 

“That world...that future...it’s a nightmare.” he says in terror. 

A nasty voice speaks behind them, “What are you two doing here?” 

Abelas turns around, “Samson and Calpernia.”

“What have you two done?!” Calpernia snaps at them. 

“Two brats who got too cocky,” Samson sneers, “but good bargaining chips against the Inquisition.” 

Kieran stands up and points at Calpernia, “A man chooses, a slave obeys.” 

“I am a  _ slave  _ no more.” Calpernia hisses. 

Kieran gives her a cruel smile, “In the end what separates a man from a slave? Money? Power? No, a man chooses, and a slave obeys! You obey without  _ question  _ to a man the world forgot in hopes that your voice will be heard.”

Calpernia quickly moves and grabs Kieran by the front of his shirt and shakes him, “What do you know?!” 

“What is the greatest lie ever created? What is the most vicious obscenity ever perpetrated on mankind? Slavery? The Holocaust of the Elven People? Dictatorship? No. It's the tool with which all that wickedness is built:  _ altruism _ . 

“Whenever anyone wants others to do their work, they call upon their altruism. Never mind your own needs, they say, think of the needs of... of whoever. The state. The poor. Of the army, of the king, of  _ God _ ! The list goes on and on. How many catastrophes were launched with the words "think of yourself"? 

“It's the "king and country" crowd who light the torch of destruction. It is this great inversion, this ancient  **lie** , which has chained humanity to an endless cycle of guilt and failure.” Kieran says with a wicked smile. 

Samson laughs, “The kid isn’t wrong, mage.” 

“Shut up.” she hisses at him. 

Abelas raises her hand, “No.  _ You  _ shut up.” 

****************

They find them standing near a large pool of water with Samson and Calpernia passed out at their feet. The Sentinel moves to stand next to Kieran and Abelas looks up from where she is looking down at her hands. She shows the mark to them and it is bleeding  _ gold  _ as her eyes shift between a void of stars and a lake of gold. Kieran looks at them, “She didn’t kill them. They are alright. Can we go home now?” 

“Home?” Abelas says and smiles, “I can get us home!” 

She turns her hand toward the mirror on the other side of the pool and it glows. She runs toward the mirror. 

Maraas jerks as she runs after her, “Abelas!” 

The mirror took them to a land of smolder ash and the bodies of the dead were still in the throngs of death. Maraas looks around and saw Abelas climbing up a large flight of stairs. Maraas followed her as she climbed higher and higher. When Abelas got the top of the stairs, she turns to Marras and her whole face is snapping between golden veins and inky veins. Maraas had to catch her breath as she came to stand next to her. She looked down at the fallen kingdom as it was eaten by molten lava. The gold was taking a long time to melt but it was melting. Abelas grabbed both of hands and Maraas looked down at her. 

The night-wind tainted with ash and rotting bodies blew up the valley that this horror show was set in to meet them. Before them a wide grey shadow loomed, and they heard an endless rustle of leaves like poplars in the breeze. 

“Arlathan!” cried Abelas in joy, “Arlathan! We have come to the eaves of the Elvhen Empire before it fell.  _ Tama _ , look at it!” 

Under the night the trees that had once stood tall before them, arched over the road and stream that ran suddenly beneath their spreading boughs. In the dim light of the stars their stems were grey, and their quivering leaves a hint of fallow gold. This was place for the dead. Maraas got down on her knees and pulled Abelas close to her. 

“Abelas...we need to go home.” 

Abelas hugged her back, “We are home.”

“Abelas...this is a tomb.” 

Abelas pulled back and then looked. She looked and her face fell. The magic faded and Abelas looked down and away, “I...I didn’t…” 

“Abelas, please, let’s go home.” Maraas says and stands up, holding out her hand. 


	25. The girl who would be death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you afraid of God?  
> No...but I'm afraid of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters after this!

They are yelling at each other for what Kieran and her had done. It made sense though. Yelling at God didn’t mean that God would listen or care. After all, what is a man to a god? Kieran takes it like a fish to water or a bird to air. He speaks firmly to the Sentinels that had come back with them. He asks them questions of what the Old World was like. 

They speak to him as though he is a king and they his subjects. Perhaps the comparison isn’t so far off. She stands as Kieran sits on the bench in the gazebo. He wanted her there to know and learn things too. She doesn’t say anything as they speak. Instead she is tired and she wants to  _ rest.  _ But she had seen it, the end for Kieran is coming in a few short hours and he doesn’t know it. 

Morrigan will be upset at she is told, which is understandable, but Abelas is too worried about the future she can see, the future she thinks she can see, and the future that is blocked to her. She wonders if this is what Falon’Din had to go through when he had been alive. Alwasy  _ knowing  _ but never allowed to tell anyone because no one is suppose to know when they are going to die. She looks at the mark on her hand and watches as the veins in her hand pulse black with power. She knows it will spread and travel and soon she will have nothing left to fear. She doesn’t have to worry about dying anymore. She just has to worry about winning.

She looks at Kieran as he chuckles about something. She has seen the future of them, and she will mourn those happy days. Kieran tells the Sentinels to go and enjoy Skyhold when he looks at her. 

“What’s wrong?” 

She holds her hand, the one with the mark, toward him, “Make me a promise, Kieran. You have to swear on your immortal soul.” 

He grasped her hand and nodded his head, “Anything.” 

She used both of her hands to grasp his one tightly and she gave him a beseeching look, “I will be your most valuable ally, come hell or high water. Anything you ask of me I will help you with. Even if I don’t think it is the correct course of action, I’ll support you. But in exchange, the one thing I will ask of you is this: whenever I say “please” to any request I make, no matter what it is, you have to help me with.” 

“I swear on my immortal soul.” he says and she watches as her magic wraps around his whole arm and leaves behind black veins. He looks at them as they faded, “So...what happens if I don’t do what you ask anyway?” 

“Your magic will kill you.” 

Before he can say anything, Abelas The Sentinel comes forward telling him that Mythal wants to see him. It has begun. Abelas watches as he leaves and sighs. She goes to the Mage Tower and opens the case that held the ashes of the book Solas had tried to burn. Her book. Cole had brought it back to her, whole and intact. The only person who could destroy the book was her and she needed it. 

She took it back to her room and shut the door. She opened it to the first page and tore it out before folding it and eating it. Knowledge was power and she had little time to spare. Falon’Din stood by the door and watched as she ate page after page. She has stop and drink water a few times but soon the book is gone. She holds her stomach as the power is absorbed back into her body. She wipes away the tears. 

She isn’t normal anymore now. 

She has made her bed and now she has to lie in it. Falon’Din moves to sit on the bed and holds out her rabbit. She takes it into her arms. 

“It is time to put away childish things, Abelas.” he tells her softly. 

She can only nod her head. 

****************

Cullen is dead and Maraas has burnt him to ash. Anansi stands next to her as the body burns and everyone they knew is there. Everyone except Abelas. When she is given the ashes she weeps. She weeps for the man she loved and the child she lost. She cries as Anansi leads her back to the house. She clutches the urn close to her body. She hears a knock on the door and snaps for whoever it is to go away. She wants to be alone. The knock comes again. 

“Tama?” her voice, older now that it had been the last time Maraas heard it, calls out, “Tama, it’s me. Can I please come in?” 

Maraas holds Cullen in one hand, strides to the door throwing it open and and wrapping her daughter in a hug hard enough to crush bone, “Abelas.” 

They weep together for a long time and Anansi weeps into their hair. When Maraas has finally fallen asleep, Abelas opens the urn and removes enough ashes to fit in the palm of her hand. Using her magic she makes a black diamond. She made sure to bank the coals and put the dishes away like she used to do. She wrapped her cloak around herself and right before she would have left the property, her little brother called out behind her. 

“Abelas! Where are you going?” 

She turned to look at him, this giant of a man who was still a boy to his own people, and she smiled, “Away. I have so much to do.” 

“Let me help.” 

Abelas shook her head, “You need to stay with her until she dies. I made you swear that before I left the first time.”

“She’ll live forever!” Anansi snaps. 

Abelas looks down, “No, she won’t. She really won’t.”

****************

Dorian is doing paperwork for the senate hearing tomorrow when he hears the door to his study open. He looks up and almost has a heart attack. Abelas has grown into a wonderful young lady since he had left Skyhold. He would know those eyes anywhere even if her hair isn’t a sheet of ink anymore. If Damen and Bull were still alive, they would have known those eyes too. He gets up quickly and shuts the blinds to his office so no one will see her. The Archon had wanted her head or her hand in marriage since she became a major player in the game. 

Felix had told him as much and Dorian had played dumb to hide what he knew about her. She comes to sit down in front of his desk and he rubs at his face. He is greying as she grows into her beauty. He comes to lean on the desk in front of her. She just smiles at him. And he knows what she has come to ask him. She had asked when she had been young; right after the whole mess with running off to the Well of Sorrows. 

She had been so ill, so tired, and he had come to cheer her up. She had been happy to hear what Felix had been up to since becoming a Magister on her side. She had asked  _ him _ —the black sheep of House Pavus—if he would do her a favor; that if she ever came to him in the middle of the night, he would at least hear out her request before telling her no and turning her away. He had said yes and now here she is. In the middle of the night, the moon new in the sky and her hair a curtain of silver as it hangs around her. He chuckles instead. 

“Oh, Abelas,” he sighs, “what ever am I going to do with you?” 

She chuckled at him, “You know me, Dorian. When they made me, I broke the mold.” 

****************

Abelas took a deep breath and clutched at the arm Solas had injured. He had tried to take the mark from her by force when her magic showed itself to be superior to his. But the battle had been won and the others came around to check on her. Kieran wrapped her arm as soon as he cleaned it and Dorian clicked his tongue in distaste. 

“Poor taste the way he fought. You never blind an opponent to then trick them and literally stab them in the back.” 

Kieran shook his head, “A duel is meant to be fought with honor. With clear rules. This? This was a long time in coming based out of petty envy and hurt pride for things that should have been buried in the past long ago. Now that all of us are together again, we can start over for our people and make a better system and world for them.” 

“What if we don’t want to?” Red Jenny snapped as she crossed her arms. 

Anansi looked at her with a smile, “Will you at least help us get started? Then you can go and do whatever you want.”

“I guess.” she said as she rolled her eyes. 

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose “And where are we going to go? Hmm? Abelas said something about a city?” 

“Do you mind a road trip Magister Pavus?” Kieran said with a smirk. 

Dorian raised an eyebrow, “Why not? I did plenty of that when we were running all over trying to kill Corypheus.”

****************

Nanin Theirin was a boy born into the royal line of Theirin and he was fifteen years old. He had come into life knowing three things. He was a prince. He was half-elf. And the world had been saved by his mother, and then again by a girl named Abelas Lavellan when she was a child who came onto the scene suddenly and was then gone twice as quick it seemed. Now he had to take over his responsibilities and go to Skyhold to speak to the Inquisitor. It was not Maraas Rutherford formerly known as Maraas Adaar. 

She had married and her husband along with her child left for a simple life after Abelas Lavellan vanished. As he paced outside in the garden waiting to be seen he pushed his hair back and sighed. He didn’t know what to say to these people of the new Inquisition. A door opened slowly near him and he turned his head to look at who was coming out. The room was empty of anyone, but a large mirror was inside of it. He walked to it and pushed the tarp away from it. The glass was dark as night.

He couldn’t even seen his reflection. He swore he could hear whispers coming from it. He leaned close enough to press his ear to the smooth surface. Something grabbed him and dragged him into the mirror. He landed harshly on a brick walkway to a large crowd singing loudly as they marched down the brick lined street toward a large tower glowing red with a backlight of power. He stood up and listened to the words the people were singing. 

“Rise Euphoria rise! We turn our hopes up to the skies! Rise Euphoria rise! We’ll go down with our sinking paradise!”

He looked up and saw a woman with black hair, dark skin and the symbol of Sylaise on her dress standing on a tall balcony. Suddenly a large light projection of her face looked down at everyone marching and they all cheered. She spoke firmly, “My city is thriving. Your allies—choose them wisely. Our Euphoria is rising. Stand with us, would you kindly?” 

Someone turned him around quickly and Nanin noticed on their shoulder guard was the symbol of Falon’Din. 

“Come with me if you don’t want to die.” they said. 

Nanin frowned, “And where would we be going if I did follow you?” 

“To see Abelas Lavellan-Rutherford.” 

Nanin scoffed, “She’s dead.” 

“They wish.” the man snorted. 

****************

The meeting room is a large grossly obscene masterpiece of gold and marble. The table is round and the chairs are all the same height. Then again, the old Pantheon had all been one species working toward a common goal. Now it was many species. Human, Elf, a half-dwarf and even a Qunari. The back of the grand seats are printed with the symbol of each god that once sat at these chairs. At the head of the table is the most grand chair. 

Leto traces the symbol etched into the marble and then backs away. He shakes his head as he looks at the others, “I don’t want to sit here. I’m not...I’m not a leader.” 

“Leto,” Kieran sighs as he pulls out his seat and then kicks up his feet, “the old Pantheon is dead. We are a new system of government. We will be keeping track of each other, we will hold each other accountable and we won’t keep secrets from each other. Our people will bring to  _ us  _ their concerns and through us we will try and make  _ their  _ lives better.” 

Abelas sits down at her chair and says nothing as she steeples her fingers. Dorian nods his head as he adjusts his braid, “Indeed. We shall have to be better than what we have known to be a “good and stable” form of government.” 

“Ha that’s rich,” Red Jenny snorts as she sits down and copies how Kieran is sitting before pushing her chair to make it stand at an angle, “do you mean that everyone is equal? News flash, everyone is equal when we’re  _ dead _ .”

Hermione shoots a look at Abelas when the comment comes into play, “I think we can make a system that works that doesn’t have to go so... _ extreme,  _ Jenny.” 

“I think that we should leave the ritual for our honored dead up to Abelas since she is, ya’know, the god of death and not us.” Anthony says with his mother signature eye roll.  

Anansi nods his head enthusiastically, “We should make clear boundaries of what we have absolute autonomy over. Just so we don’t step on anyone's toes.” 

“See? He gets it.” Anthony says with a chuckle as he leans on his elbow, “Kieran is gonna have to be the judge for everything when someone fucks up and little Leto can be the man who kills anyone who is a twat.”

Leto snapped his head to glare at the younger man, “I’m taller than you and older as well. Kieran and I would need to talk and get the judicial system all sorted out. So any trials will need to be postponed, right Kieran?”  

“Yes, but  _ if,  _ and only if, there is to be any executions, we have to adhere to Abelas.” Kieran said as he threw a hand out at her where she sat, “She will decided if death is even warranted for their crimes.” 

Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m not sure...how to be a goddess of...domestic arts. What even  _ are  _ domestic arts?” 

“The People pray to you to help them with their homes and to know how to live inside of them and be thankful for them.” Anansi said with a smile, “After all, the first Sylaise taught the elves how to make fire, and taught them how to weave rope and thread, and to use herbs and magic for healing purposes. Medicine is always advancing. Maybe you could start there?” 

Jenny looks at the only vacant seat at the table, “So...we are definitely  _ not  _ going to talk about the elephant in the room then?” 

Abelas says nothing as the others all look at her. Kieran clears his throat, “The fight was a long time in coming. Solas was going to kill all of us AGAIN. I don’t fault her for the choice she made. A new Fen’harel will be born one day and when that time comes we can fold them into the council.”

“So...the immortality spell  _ isn’t  _ something that we can undo than once we have the full scope of power gifted to us?” Dorian said as he redid his braid, “Which means this system can be taken one step at a time to be done correctly.” 

Leto nodded his head, “We should do this correctly. Or as correctly as we can.” 

“So we won’t ask what the fuck she did then?” Jenny snapped as she surged to her feet, “We don’t get to ask what she did or how she did it? I wanna know!” 

Abelas finally spoke, “I locked him away like he did to us. When he gets out he can try to grow as a person. That’s all I did.” 

“Solas was the mage that drew the pictures in Skyhold!” Hermione exclaimed, “All of them were grossly incorrect because of how...overly graphic they were for events that everyone said happened a completely different way.” 

Anthony chuckled, “Dad  used to say that he was too full of himself. Trying to act like he was taking the high road when he was just a megalomaniac with a stick up his ass.” 

Dorian laughed and Abelas smiled. 

“Oh,” Dorian sighed as he wiped a tear from his eye, “always wonder for words. Varric was a good writer and an honest man. A sneaky little shit but good nonetheless.” 

Kieran took his feet off the table, “I would like to address how we are going to deal with the Sentinels that served as bodyguards to us and who, after our banishment, slept in our temples until we woke them up. They were designed and bred to be a certain way and we can not  _ undo  _ that level of magic unless we want to kill them. Any ideas?” 

“We should gradually lessen their duties to us until we don’t need them at all.” Leto said, “Make them come to terms that they are free men and women. That is one idea.” 

Anansi itched at his head, “I guess so. But...I don’t know.” 

“We all make choices, but in the end, our choices make us.” Kieran said as he began to walk around the table, arms folded behind him, “A man chooses. A slave obeys. We need to teach them that they are slaves no more.” 

Dorian sighed and began to clean under his nails, “And how do you proposes to do that, Kieran? You and Abelas have always spoken about this great utopia, but  _ how  _ are you going to get there? A plan is needed and taking back old cities just won’t cut it.” 

“He’s right.” Jenny said as she sat back down, “The old cities would fall quick in a war. And I know that everyone is itching to take on the woman who saved the world now that she’s not living at the top of mountain.” 

Anansi jerked in his seat and the made himself settle down and took a calming breath, “We can build new and better cities. That would make jobs and our people need it. A safe place to call their own and a city to call their own!” 

Kieran stopped next to Anansi and leaned down to speak to him, “I'm here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?”

He looked at everyone and they all looked at each other in confusion.

“I suppose he is.” Leto said slowly. 

Kieran laughed and slammed his hand down on the table and sneered, “That’s  **cute** . _ "No," _ says the man in Kirkwall, _ "it belongs to the poor." _ You think it’s different anywhere else?  _ "No," _ says the woman in the Chantry, _ "it belongs to God." _ And they aren’t even the worst.   _ "No," _ says the man in Tevinter,  _ "it belongs to everyone."  _ I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose... _ us. _ A city where the artist would not fear the censor; where the scientist would not be bound by  _ petty  _ morality; where the small would not be constrained by the great! And with the sweat of your brow, we can build a city like that and it can become their city as well.”

The rest of the day was spent hashing out rules and everything else they could think of. When everyone else left it was only Kieran and Abelas left in the room. Abelas hadn’t moved and Kieran was walking around the table, running the tips of his fingers along the smooth golden surface. He looked at Abelas and she clicked her tongue, “That was some speech, Kieran.” 

“We can do it, Abelas.” he said with a smirk, “You and I made that promise to each other so long ago. We are going to make this run a utopia for our people.” 

Abelas stood slowly and shook her head, “I think that’s the problem with utopias—we bring ourselves to it, you know? We think we’re leaving our problems behind but—I don’t mean this in a cynical way— _ we are the problem _ . Whatever social problems that occur come out of  **us** . It’s not like they fall out of the sky. I think people think they’re going to go to a utopian society, and...I think it’s not really possible.” 

“But we have the one thing that one else has ever had!” Kieran tells as he grabs her hands and spins her around the room, “We have you!”

Abelas pulled herself away, “And what does that even mean?” 

“We have the girl who would be death.” Kieran said as he spread his arms, “The girl who  _ is  _ death and she is on our side.” 

Abelas only looked down at her hands and watched as the black magic moved through her veins like a river under ice. All the power of death and all the crushing knowledge that came with it. Kieran lifted her hands up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She could see it, quick as lighting, but she had seen it. The power had begun to seep into them in all the  _ wrong  _ ways, except for her and Dorian. Even her darling little brother. She had seen how this would play out but, as she had learned, she wasn’t allowed to spoil it. 

She simply pulled her hands away from Kieran and made her way back to her section of the capital.


End file.
